After the Revelations
by Rabirhek
Summary: A series of "missing scenes", connected as a somewhat back-story following the episode "Revelations". How did Reid and the BAU team handle the aftermath?  Team fic; rated T for mentions of drug use and mild swearing.
1. Chapter 1

The Georgian night was bitterly cold as Garcia stood alone in the tiny airport, under the feeble yellow light emanating from a lone street light nearby the jet. Last night's storm had seemed to still, but the wind was cruelly brisk in Garcia's blond curls, as though willing the FBI to leave, offering strong blows in an hostile attempt to see the BAU jet fly off of its skies.

The lone technical analyst knew that the world felt so cold and cruel only because she was waiting there by herself for the real storm she had lived through – the team had lived through – to be over. The last couple of days had been etched permanently on her memory; the horrors she'd seen carved on her heart. Never before had her heart raced so badly before the images on a computer screen; never before had she felt that tenseness creeping into her very being, nailing her to her seat; never before had her fingers worked so shakily on the keyboard, almost contracting as she fumbled to track the unsub. Garcia had never feared so badly that she would lose one of her 'babies', and never, ever before would she have thought that she'd have to witness it.

As she stood shivering in the airport, lingering by the BAU jet's steps, she prayed, with all her heart, for Reid to be okay. About two hours ago, Morgan had called and given her the news that had her collapse onto her seat and cry sweet tears of relief. An hour and a half later, Morgan had called again to let her know that Reid was okay, and told her to meet them at the airport. And now Garcia waited, anxiously, to say the least, to see Reid for real, to make sure for herself that he was, he really was okay.

She bit her lip as she impatiently watched two black SUVs approach and pull over a few steps away from her. "Oh dear God," she whispered to herself, clutching her green beaded bag to her chest as she watched Morgan and Emily get out of the first vehicle. From the other one, Hotch got off of the driver's seat, and JJ, climbing down from the front seat, opened the back door and held out her hand. Garcia could feel her heart drum against her ribcage as she moved closer and watched Reid climb down the vehicle, taking JJ's help. "Oh my dear God," she repeated, noticing the painful movements. She rushed forward as Reid straightened, Gideon climbing lastly down the SUV and quickly resting a gentle but firm hand on Reid's back. Resisting the urge to walk up and wrap her arms around Reid's fragile body, Garcia forced herself to remain silent, and helped the others unload their go-bags from the SUVs. She watched Hotch, with slight surprise, walk over and in front of Gideon, and take Reid's arm to help him up the jet's stairs, seemingly supporting most of his weight. Garcia noted how crumpled Reid stood, his disheveleled, dirty hair falling over his face like a curtain. His entire posture was awkward – not that Reid wasn't usually awkward, but Garcia couldn't help but think that Reid seemed as though he had somehow shut himself off from the world, letting his body manifest his awkwardness as it pleased. He had not looked up to anyone's face since they arrived at the airport. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned, meeting Emily's gentle eyes.

"He'll be fine," Emily said softly, gesturing her to climb the steps after everyone else. "There's no serious damage to his body. His heart rate is normal. The doctor said he'll be sore for a while, but," she squeezed Garcia's shoulder, "he'll be okay."

Not trusting herself to speak, Garcia nodded, inwardly thanking God for the good news, and firmly keeping the tears in her eyes from falling. She walked into the jet before Emily, and seated herself across from JJ, who had, interestingly, chosen a spot facing off from the large seat where Reid had perched.

"JJ," Garcia called softly, reaching forward to touch her knee. She did not know what to say to her friend, but the media liaison certainly looked like she could use a friend. JJ tried to smile at Garcia, brushing off the lingering shadows in her eyes.

"Reid will be fine," she said quietly, not as much for comforting Garcia as for the sake of saying something.

"What about you?" Garcia asked, still reached forward, a hand on JJ's knee. JJ swallowed, sighed deeply, and rested her head at the back of her seat. Understanding that she didn't want to speak about herself, Garcia voiced the question that had been plauging her for the last couple of hours.

"JJ, what happened out there? What happened to Hankel?"

"Hankel's dead," JJ replied, head still resting at the back of the seat, watching Garcia through half-closed eyelids. "Reid shot him."

"What? Reid shot Hankel?" Garcia repeated, the words shocking her, eyes darting towards Reid. Once again, in almost magical speed, a painful lump was forming in her throat. Reid was sitting with his arms tightly wrapped around himself. Right across him were Gideon and Hotch, and next to him, Morgan had a hand on his shoulder, speaking to him. Garcia could hear their voices, but she was not listening, she was not registering the words exchanged. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

If it were someone else – Morgan or Hotch, maybe – that they had shot Hankel might not have sounded so terrible to her ears. She might have even felt a bit of satisfaction. But this was Reid, and now Garcia felt a mixture of anger –at whom she didn't know, but anger at the fact that Reid had to save himself; sadness –for Reid, because somehow Garcia knew that Reid didn't need the weight of having killed someone on his conscious, even though it was more than justified; and pride, for the way he had handled and got out of this entire God-awful ordeal.

"How?" she asked finally, wanting to hear everything that had happened. JJ however, only shook her head, keeping an uncharacteristically preserved silence. Garcia turned to the lone seat at the other side of the isle, across from her. "Emily?"

And as she listened the newest member of the team recount all that had taken place after they left Hankel's house, Garcia no longer bothered to keep the tears from silently falling down.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I don't own Criminal Minds, and no copyright infringement is intended. The recognizable bits directly allude to the show.**_

* * *

Right across Garcia, JJ struggled to shake herself out of the unfamiliar feelings, and switch back to the professional that she was. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy to do when the "victim" was one of the team, and she was in the position of those she normally comforted.

The media liaison simply did not know how to deal with herself.

The blackness at the back of her eyelids closed on her view like a curtain, and immediately, the events of the last few hours began flashing one after another, leaving her restless, denying her an undisturbed sleep.

_The bone-chilling fear, the powerful rush of adrenalin, the drumming of her heart as she sat at the backseat of the SUV that Morgan drove like a storm, rushing to Marshall Perish, to save Reid..._

_The clutter of their footsteps on the old porch, the tenseness as they prepared to barge in, the thunderous sound of Hotch's kick on the cabin's door, and that awful smell of rotten fish, the waves of heat emanating from the stove..._

_The feel of the leaves under her feet as they spread amongst the trees – the gravestones - in search of Reid, the feeling in her gut that every other member of the team had also started to fear not finding Reid... alive..._

_The gunshot piercing through the eerie silence of the woods, the terror that nailed her to the ground as even the night birds fell silent at the rage of the gunfire, and Hotch's almost frantic call of Reid's name.._

Swallowing in discomfort, JJ shifted in her seat, passing a hand through her eyes in a feeble attempt to chase the all-too-fresh memories, but exhaustion kept her in its grip.

_Reid, collapsed next to Hankel's dead body, and a half-dug grave._

_Reid, hugging her back, telling her it wasn't her fault._

_Reid, his eyes closing, his body giving in to the exhaustion as she helped him and rode with him in the ambulance._

_Reid, being helped by Morgan and Gideon to the SUV in front of the hospital._

_Reid, his still trembling fingers finding and clasping her hand as she sat next to him in the SUV until they had to pull over, until Reid threw up the jell-o they had given him at the hospital, until Gideon took her seat next to him and she took the front seat._

_Reid, taking her help to climb down the SUV._

_Reid._

Her eyes fluttered open at an unfamiliar, coarse feel of fingertips on her knee.

Startled to see none other than the unit chief sitting across her, JJ sat up quickly as the light touch on her knee was withdrawn.

Hotch's gaze was filled with too much concern – concern for not only Reid but also for every other member of the team. Tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears, JJ swallowed, her mouth dry, and waited for Hotch to speak.

"How're you holding up?"

She nodded, trying to smile. "I'm fine."

She could tell that he was not buying it, although the moment she said it, she realized that a tiny part of her was really fine – fine because Reid was safe, because he was relatively okay, because he was there with them in the jet. The thought made her feel a bit better, but still, she couldn't help but ask the question that she had already asked more than once on different occasions.

"How do you do it, Hotch?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she could not find it –not in her body, not in her heart- to speak louder. She paused to look at Hotch's face. The bags under his eyes, the frown that seemed to be permanently etched on his brow, the lines on his forehead – there was _too much_ on that face, and JJ could not imagine having to carry all that weight.

"How do you go on," she continued slowly, "being the leader of this team, knowing that everything's on this fragile balance, that there is so much you cannot control, or predict... knowing that, if you make a wrong decision... it can cost somebody his life?"

Hotch shook his head, seeming to have a ready answer for that. When he spoke, his voice was equally quiet. "It is a risk we have to take, JJ, in order to save those lives."

JJ sighed, averting his gaze. "I can't help but think that if we hadn't split, that if I had stuck with Reid – "

"JJ, stop."

She looked up, a bit startled to hear thin cracks in the façade; the emotion leaking ever so slightly from Hotch's usually collected voice. His gaze dropped to his hands, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

"There is no use thinking about all that," he continued quietly, "because truth is, you can never know." He paused and looked up. "JJ, we have to function within a measure of certainty. Otherwise, trying to take into account all the variables – even if we could – we cannot do our job as we should be doing it."

But JJ was not to be satisfied easily. "But when something like this happens...? When one of us falls victim of a wrong judgment?"

"JJ, _this," _Hotch said, shaking his head, "is one thing that I cannot control; I have to trust it. I trust in the judgment of every member of this team, and so far, that trust has never been compromised."

"And this time?"

"Bad luck," Hotch answered curtly. "You and Reid splitting up was not poor judgment –"

"Yeah, and what was it?" JJ insisted.

"Nothing but perhaps lack of experience," Hotch put, putting an end to this interrogation. For a long moment, he held JJ's gaze.

"Besides," he added then, his voice lighter, "if I know Reid at all, you probably didn't have time to argue with him." When he saw JJ smile at the comment, he continued. "JJ, if there's one thing I learned not to do in this job, it is to never think back and question what would have happened if you've made a different decision. It _never_ helps." He paused, and JJ watched his gaze shift upwards, through the back of the jet to where Reid sat. After a moment, his gaze returned to her.

"We got Reid back, and he's safe now," he said softly. "That's all that you should think about."

Slowly, JJ nodded, her head once again dropping back.

_He is safe now. It's all over._

The thought of the reports that she needed to write made her sigh in contempt.

"Don't worry about the reports," Hotch said as though he had read her mind. "I know this case struck too close to home—"

"It struck bull's eye," JJ muttered lightly, and Hotch continued with a slight smile.

"—but you need to treat it like any other. I'll make sure we all have a couple of days off of work. Don't think about reports until we're back on the job."

Gratefully, JJ nodded. "Thank you."

Nodding, Hotch rose to his feat. "Get some rest."

Strangely enough, JJ found that she now actually could.

* * *

**TBC**

_**I think this was rather dramatic, but I've always had a flair for that. I'd love to hear what you think about characterization in particular.  
**_

_**Looks like it'll be Reid's POV next, but I'm not really sure. Thank you for reading.  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Is he going into shock?_

Morgan's gaze shifted to Gideon, and in his eyes Morgan could see the same concern he felt as they both watched Reid sit there in a remotely scaring numbness. An inexplicable sense of protectiveness –one he didn't really know how to manage– was almost overwhelming Morgan as he watched Reid, not speaking or asking for anything, not making eye-contact with anyone. He had seemed alert enough ever since they've found him, and Morgan knew that he was exhausted to the core; yet he couldn't help but be bothered by his silence.

He was not entirely sure why he felt so _disturbed – _his heart was still swelling, continuously swelling ever since he had laid eyes on Reid's crumpled form in the cemetery. Somehow, he'd been able to keep himself from walking in front of Hotch and Gideon, helping Reid up from the ground and simply hugging him in relief; a simple –maybe not too common between the two of them, but entirely justified considering the circumstances – a simple hug then and there would relieve Morgan of everything that he felt, but he couldn't do it. The instinctive mechanism of self-preservation had kicked in and he had remained behind, checking Hankel's vitals just to go with procedure, making sure the paramedics were waiting down the road, and taking care of the mess. Ever since, the unreleased emotions were adding up inside his chest, swirling and squirming in his gut as he remained unable to express them. He would've loved to get his hands on Hankel; that would certainly help. He would've loved to get just five minutes alone, somewhere he could kick things around and punch walls; that would help, too. But at that moment, trapped in the jet with other six people around him, the only thing he _could _do was to reach out to the kid - and yet, this time, it was Reid who seemed to be shutting himself off.

He glanced at Gideon, and then Hotch, who shared the same look of worry with him, but when neither moved, slowly, hesitantly, Morgan placed a hand on Reid's shoulder to get his attention.

"Reid?"

He had half-expected a flinch, half-feared a violent jerk of the head, but he was more confused than relieved when Reid very slowly turned his head almost three seconds after Morgan's hand made contact with him, and blinked at the hand on his shoulder as though trying to figure out what it was. His eyes slowly rose to Morgan's face –not his eyes– rested there for another second before his head turned away and dropped slightly, resuming his unmoving position.

"Reid," Morgan repeated, slightly squeezing the shoulder. Reid looked up, blinked a few more times as if to clear his head, and Morgan was slightly relieved to see the flicker of alertness in his eyes.

"You all right?"

Reid nodded. "Yes."

His voice was not above a whisper, but that wasn't a surprise. Morgan knew that he needed rest, but he could not shake off the nagging feeling in his stomach that Reid was far from being all right. He opened his mouth to ask if he wanted to eat something, but stopped when Reid shuddered, his eyes screwing shut. Before Morgan could react, the pilot's voice filled the jet.

"_All right, we're taking off; if you could take your seats and put on your seat belts, please."_

After clasping his own seat belt, Morgan noticed the stern look Gideon kept on Reid. Reid had not moved, his eyes were still closed, a look of discomfort on his face. Gideon leaned forward.

"Reid."

Reid's eyes fluttered open.

"Your seat belt," Gideon said simply, pointing at the belt. After another moment of confusion, Reid reached for the belt and clasped it, more in an automatic motion than an understanding of the situation. Morgan was growing more and more uncomfortable at each passing second; seeing Reid confused, or not processing something immediately, was simply unnerving.

As the jet angled up and gained speed, Morgan felt the familiar pressure in his ears. He took the opportunity to rest his eyes a bit, noticing, for the first time, the subtle ache in his muscles, the deep exhaustion of the last three days settling in his bones. This entire... ordeal... _he could not think of this as any other case – not when Reid had become a part of it, suffered from it, almost died in it – _yes, this entire ordeal had tried Morgan's nerves to the limit. In the last two days, he had had to put all his effort in keeping his head together, and all things considered, Morgan was rather proud of the professionalism he had managed to display during the entire thing.

His eyes flickered though the other side of the jet where the women of the team were settled.

_Did he really blame JJ for splitting up with Reid?_

He could not be sure. All he knew was that they were supposed to have each other's back, and they hadn't.

His gaze slowly turned towards Reid who was sitting next to him, and what he saw made Morgan sit upright, brow creasing deeply.

The pain in Reid's face was intensifying at each passing second, and Morgan watched his hands –unsteady hands- slowly rise up, head hanging down, eyes screwed shut, and palms resting on either side of his head in an attempt to, maybe, still the chaos that whirled in it. Gideon was quicker than Morgan to react.

"Reid," he called, leaning forward towards him. Reid did not react, palms still pressed on the temples, face still contorted. Morgan's hand found its place on Reid's shoulder and gave it a slight shake.

"Kid, are you all right?" he asked forcefully, willing to get an answer; but it was all in vain, for Reid did not give any sign on hearing either of them. "Reid!"

It was only after the jet had found its route a couple of minutes later and the lights on the seat belts turned green that Reid's hands began to loosen their grip on his scalp. Slowly, his arms dropped down, hands perching awkwardly on his knees, fingers trembling –_still trembling, always trembling as though it would never stop and still–_ as they fiddled with the cloth of his pants. He threw a quick glance at Gideon.

"I'm all right," he muttered, and wrapped his arms around himself, turning away from his teammates. Morgan could have been relieved that Reid did not show any further sign of pain, had it not been for the fact that the kid looked nothing but all right. Still, he had now attained a very closed air, preventing Morgan from trying to talk to him.

He slowly pulled back, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose.

_Keep yourself together, man. He's going into shock; it's nothing unusual. He's fine. The doctor had said that this could happen._

"Morgan."

His eyes snapped open and he stared, almost disbelievingly, at Reid.

"Could you pass me that blanket?" Reid asked, head tilting towards the crumpled blanket that rested at Morgan's other side, dropped and forgotten there on the seat.

"Sure," Morgan muttered quickly. Unclasping the seat belt, he took hold of the blanket and rested it in Reid's lap, in an awkward in-between way of handing him the cover and draping it over him. He watched Reid grip the edges of the wool with restless fingers and pull it over himself, head turning away from everyone, and looking out of the tiny window.

With a deep sigh, Morgan dropped his head to the back of the seat, and forced himself to relax. The flight back to Virginia would take about an hour, and at the moment, Morgan only wished that they had drinks on board.

* * *

**TBC**

**_First of all; many thanks to each and every single one of you who has left a review so far. Each and every single comment is greatly appreciated; thanks so much._**

**_Writing in Morgan's p.o.v was a bit of a challenge. Another challenge was to control these fingers and not let them stray through a full-fledged Reid whump._**

**_As always, thanks a lot for reading, and I hope you're still enjoying this._  
**


	4. Chapter 4

A sense of renewal – _somewhat like a déjà-vu, somewhat like a stroll in vivid memories, or even a bit like having replaced something that had been removed_ – in a bizarre combination with a strong touch of reality. That's what it felt like for Reid to sit in the BAU jet and be surrounded by his team as the wheels took off and the jet plunged into the night air. Every pinch of physical discomfort –the insistent ache in his chest, the throbbing pain in his foot, the migraine, the nausea that wouldn't go away– was oddly sharp; not blending together, can't be named "pain" in one category, but each of them separate, each of them more real than the other. His mind, in complete contrast, was dulled, and all he could actually feel was an inexplicable sense of separation from his physical being despite an extreme consciousness of his body.

Somehow, his heart was much lighter, but at each breath, it hurt.

He was vaguely aware that he wasn't bodily manifesting any discomfort, but from the depths of his mind, he could hear a distant voice uttering the explanation he needed. _Shock._

Wherever he turned his gaze, he could see the tip of a revolver. The click of the trigger was always in his ears. So was it really shock; had it already settled in? Normally he would frown when he questioned things that puzzled him, but at the moment, Reid wasn't sure whether his eyebrows really creased.

_Things had been happening._

_He had been sitting in a chair, restrained; and a man by the name of Tobias Hankel and by the mind of three individuals, was ordering him to 'confess'._

_He had been digging his own grave, and then he had shot Hankel._

_He had been helped up the ground by Hotch and Prentiss. He rode to a hospital in an ambulance with JJ at his side. He had been checked, tested, and reluctantly cleared._

_The jet was taking him home._

Normally, he should be feeling something -relief, most of all- but there was nothing. The events were passing by without affecting him, despite the fact that things were happening _to _him.

_The mind makes sense of time in an interval of three: past, present and future. It usually cannot make sense of the present without knowledge of its past and acknowledgment of its future._

But there _was_ knowledge of all that had happened, and there was the acknowledgment of what was to come.

_Physics. For the eye to see something, the light must reach it first. If you jump on a ray of light and ride it, you don't see anything that you pass by, or anything ahead of you. It's Einstein._

_You're riding on the present._

Sometime soon, he would jump, stand, and everything that had passed by would catch up on him. And then, he would feel.

_Time is the fourth dimension._

At the moment, Reid felt like there was no other dimension.

It was funny how his brain never really shut itself off.

Quite suddenly, one feeling pushed the others aside and dominated his entire being. He sniffed and looked around, in search of his go-bag. Unable to spot it or remember where it might be, he gazed at the direction of his team mates.

"Is my go-bag around?"

He could see the faces of Gideon, Hotch, and even Morgan who sat next to him, not across him; but somehow, he could not look directly at them. Something inside him was seized by an irrational fear that if he rested his gaze on their solid forms, they would somehow lose their reality; perhaps once again become the smoky silhouettes that his mind created, prodded by the hope that they would find him in the cabin. Morgan's voice was strangely strong in his ears.

"Yeah, it's here," he was saying, pulling a go-bag from under the seat. "What do you need?"

"I need to change," Reid muttered. From the very core of his being to the three hair fibers falling over his right eye, he felt filthy.

"Come on," Morgan said quietly, taking hold of the bag with one hand, and gripping Reid's arm to help him stand with the other. Moving certainly helped with his senses; the moment Reid stood on his feet, the word spun around in a whirl of colorful dots, and another set of hands gripped at him, preventing him from falling. He wasn't sure if it was Gideon or Hotch; the pounding in his head had intensified tenfold.

"Reid, sit down."

It was Gideon's voice, and three hands were still gripping his arms tightly. Taking the advice, he slowly lowered himself on the seat, and waited for the world the slow and still.

"Take it easy," someone was saying, but Reid wasn't sure how _easier _he could take it. He was beginning to feel strangely trapped within his clothing; trapped within the smell of burning fish guts; trapped in the cabin and on the chair again. He couldn't raise his eyes, lest he saw Hankel standing in front of him.

"I – I need to change," Reid muttered, once again moving to stand, but Morgan's hands prevented him.

"Kid, stay down; you can change later."

"No –" He tried to brush off Morgan's hands but it only made him feel more conscious of the weakness of his limbs. He tried to make Morgan understand –to see– that he _had to_ change; because _if he didn't, the tip of the gun would not disappear; Hankel's voice would not quiet and Reid could not leave the cemetery. The hole he was digging would be a grave and Hankel would bury him alive and Reid couldn't breathe; he couldn't get enough air in his lungs no matter how desperately he tried, and in the silence of the grave he could hear his own heartbeat thunder in his ears._

"Reid!"

"Reid, calm down. Spencer."

He could now hear them, and he tried to look up and see them, but he couldn't look at their faces. Everything was out of place; nothing fit, nothing made sense.

"Reid. _Look_ at me."

Something was different in this voice; it wasn't urgent, it didn't have the frantic quality the other two had. It was ordering. It was Hotch. Reid looked up and met his boss' gaze.

Then he became aware of the hands still gripping his arms, so forcefully that it almost hurt.

He also became aware of the coarse hands covering his own. Not reassuring like JJ's had been; not soft and caring like Garcia's, and not calm and steadying like Prentiss'. These hands were gripping his own very tightly, very fiercely as though to keep him from moving away.

Hotch's eyes were mercifully calm. Staring into his boss' eyes, Reid felt his heartbeat slow.

"Reid, it's okay," Hotch said quietly, holding Reid's gaze, not blinking. There was a soft quality in his voice that Reid did not hear frequently, and his calm and composed air was certainly helping. It suddenly dawned on him that he had just had a panic attack, and he felt utterly stupid. Breaking eye contact, he wrenched his hands from Hotch's grip, and his arms instinctively wrapped themselves around his body as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

After he was fully calm and lucid again, he once again looked up at Hotch.

"I am going to change."

His voice was quiet and collected; he was not asking for help or permission. Hotch nodded.

"I'll help you to the restroom."

This time, Reid pushed himself up very carefully, and accepted Hotch's help to walk. His right foot was still too tender to step on, and he wasn't sure he could walk without someone to steady him. Silently, he limped the way to the restroom, took his go-bag from Hotch, and locked himself in.

Perhaps, if he got rid of these clothes, he would be stripped off of at least one layer of the bitter reality.

* * *

**TBC**

**_So writing Reid is more fun than doing research for a master's class. I'm doomed this Thursday._  
**


	5. Chapter 5

After each case, the BAU jet's flight back to Virginia would have a different air. Sometimes it was sad, sometimes relaxed, and sometimes heavier than before. The current flight home from Georgia, on the other hand, was unique in more than one way. The silence in the jet was thicker than ever as each team member sat with some distance from each other, lost in their own thoughts. Unit chief Hotchner, for one, felt as though he were a hundred years old as he stood leaning on the archway by the kitchenette, watching his team. The worry in Morgan's eyes was still lingering. Sadness was all there was in Garcia's face. Prentiss was distant, closed. JJ had still not fallen asleep.

And Gideon... Jason would always remain unreadable.

There was something in the atmosphere that reminded Hotch of the Adrian Bale case. The team had been smaller back then –they had lost two of their own in the explosion that had killed six– and Hotch remembered how, in Gideon's absence, Morgan, Reid and JJ had grown considerably close. It had been instinctive; they had been closing ranks, sticking together. It had taken Hotch himself a long time to get used to having only himself, Reid and Morgan in the field. The absence of his three teammates had been a gaping hole that he ached, and remained unable, to fill.

But time had been merciful. In less than seven months, Garcia had joined the team with her mind-blowing abilities and much-needed positive attitude. Gideon had returned to duty, now even more wizened. And the addition of Elle Greenaway had been a breath of fresh air for the tired BAU team.

There had been other cases which had affected a member of his team more than the others. The Fisher King case, Elle getting shot, her departure from the team, Morgan being accused of serial murder, Gideon's brush with "Frank" – all of these incidents had somehow made the team –his team- stronger in the end. As Hotch made his way back to his seat and sat down with a sigh, he wondered if that would once again be the case. He knew that everyone was emotionally drained –_he _was drained in every way– but he needed to make sure that each member of his team would be all right.

"Guys," he called quietly from his seat, slightly leaning towards the isle as he addressed his team. There was little to no movement, but there was less doubt that everyone was listening attentively.

"I want to thank you all for the professionalism you displayed on this case."

He knew it sounded distant, too professional, but that was his usual self. Still, right after he finished the sentence, he felt a wave of exhaustion –a relief, a sense of giving up, letting go- wash over him, and he let it take the pillars of his outer façade with it.

"Reid will have as long time off work as he needs to recover," he continued slowly, his voice tired, sad ... sincere. "And I'll make sure that we have the next couple of days off as well. I know that this case has been too hard on all of us, but let's just focus on the fact that it ended well. I also know that we're all concerned for Reid, and truth is, what he went through won't be easy to get over." He paused to look at their faces before continuing. "But we also know, now more than ever, how strong he is. He will be all right."

He had meant every word, and he felt a great sense of satisfaction at seeing the agreement on the faces of his team members. Morgan had given him the tiniest of nods with a fierce look in his eyes; Prentiss had only held Hotch's gaze for a second before turning away, her expression determined; JJ had slowly nodded, without actually looking up; and the tears shining in Garcia's eyes were indicative enough of her feelings. Slowly, Hotch shifted back in his seat, and turned the other way.

Gideon's gaze was directly on him.

"Good speech," he said, somewhat lightly. Hotch shook his head wearily and did not answer. For the first time in a long time, he wished to have the strength of Jason's inner resolve.

The soft click of the restroom's door was the next thing to be heard, and this time it was Morgan who rushed to help Reid back to his seat. Reid was completely changed; he was now wearing a new pair of pants, a clean shirt, another sweater, and his brown woolen cardigan over them. He seemed to have splashed some water to his face; the dirt and smears of earth were washed off, leaves cleaned from his hair. Taking Morgan's support, he limped the couple of steps back to the seat across Gideon. The hair falling over his face couldn't hide the grimace he displayed as he shifted his weight, trying to make himself comfortable.

After one last, measuring look at his friend, Morgan quietly moved to his solitary seat.

"Water?" Gideon offered quietly. Pulling the fronts of his cardigan together and wrapping his arms around himself, Reid looked up at him before nodding shortly.

"Yeah."

Thanking Gideon with his eyes as he took the bottle, Reid raised it to his lips with slightly steadier hand that it had been ten minutes ago. He took several short sips, his eyes closed as though the spring water was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his life. While screwing the lid close, he shuddered.

"Here," Gideon said softly, placing a pillow at the tip of the long seat Reid was sitting on. "You should lie down. We won't be landing in a couple of hours; try to get some sleep."

Reid threw a glance through the pillow as though contemplating Gideon's offer, but then, he slowly shook his head. "I'm fine." His arms clutched tighter around his midsection as he turned away and stared out of the tiny window.

Regarding him for a second, Gideon seemed to think better than arguing with him. Wearily, he rose to his feet, and walked to the kitchenette. Gideon had maintained the most controlled and collected attitude during the entire ordeal, and he still kept it up, but as he walked down the isle, his form was slumped and his steps were those of an eighty-year-old.

Left alone across from Reid, Hotch watched him for a moment before addressing him.

"Reid."

Reid looked up questioningly.

"It's good to have you back."

Reid swallowed and broke eye contact to stare at his lap. "Thanks." After a pause he looked back up. "Thanks for finding me," he added. Hotch smiled a bit.

"You did a pretty good job of helping yourself." His smile faded, his expression resuming its somberness. "What you did was incredibly brave."

Hotch wasn't sure what exactly he was talking about –the fact that Reid had refused to name one of his team members to die at the risk –the way too high risk- of death; or the fact that he had distracted and shot his tormentor; or that he had managed to drop the clues of his whereabouts under that pressure – but Hotch was very much impressed and quiet proud of the way Reid was handling everything.

On the other hand, Reid seemed as though he was going to argue –or at least, ask what he meant, but he seemed to think better of it and kept his silence.

Mere minutes later, Hotch's head had back, his body losing the ongoing battle against exhaustion.

For his own part, Reid was putting up a very difficult fight against the darkness that seemed too eager to overwhelm him. Changing his filthy clothing had certainly helped; and yet he was not feeling any better, for he was now aware that he had not eaten or slept in the last three days. And still, if he were honest with himself, he was simply afraid of falling asleep.

He knew that he was safe – he was up in the air, in the jet with his friends surrounding him, and yet, he felt vaguely alone. Somehow the care and concern emanating from his teammates were oddly distant, far from being reassuring, and Reid was cold, within and without. With a deep sigh, he fought against his closing eyelids, and wished his mother were there. Somehow, it felt like Diana Reid was the only person who could make him feel warm again. And maybe he could finally have the courage to ask her if she still felt betrayed for being admitted to a sanatorium.

When he felt someone sitting next to him, Reid forced himself to turn his head and look, if only to distract himself from falling asleep. It was Garcia – _Garcia?_ – _had she come with them to Georgia? He didn't remember her coming with them to Georgia. No, she hadn't come with the team, so she must have come later – but he couldn't remember seeing her before – had he been so clueless as to what was going on around him?_

"Garcia," he croaked stupidly. Garcia shifted closer to him.

"Hey, Reid." Her voice was so tender that Reid felt something move in his heart, like a string being pulled. Garcia simply looked at him for a few seconds – her brown eyes were so full of care – and then, before Reid knew it, he was engulfed in her arms. He instinctively stiffened, surprised by the unusual gesture of affection, but Garcia did not let go. Slowly, Reid let himself relax into her hug.

He did not know how long they'd been sitting like that when yet another unstoppable shiver shot up his spine. Gently, Garcia's arms unfolded, only to reach forward and grab the blanket that was left at the edge of the seat. Without moving, Reid watched her face as he let Garcia drape the blanket over him and tuck him in. She looked tired, just like the rest of them. Her eyes were bright, but there were no tears, and for that Reid was grateful.

"When-" Reid stopped to clear his throat when his voice came out croaked. "When did you fly to Georgia?"

"The morning after you –um – you and JJ went to Hankel's house to interview him."

Reid nodded slowly. "To take care of the computer set up he used."

"Yeah," Garcia confirmed with a nod. Reid was silent for almost a minute before he spoke again.

"So you watched... everything."

"Oh Reid." Garcia seized Reid's cold hand and clutched it in her own. "I am just... so _proud _of you, and so _relieved _that you're okay."

Reid already knew it, like he knew that Hotch and Gideon and Morgan were all proud of him, that they all were relieved and happy that he was safe. It didn't take a profiler to see any of these, but then and there, it felt _so good _to actually hear those words, to hear those sentiments in Garcia's voice, to feel them in the clutching of her hand.

Gratefully, Reid squeezed her hand back. A wave of warmth spread though his body and engulfed his heart, and with a tiny smile on his lips, Reid let his eyelids drop.

This time, in the darkness, there was no revolver.

* * *

**TBC**

**_Once again, many thanks to everyone for the reviews and comments, and special thanks to Sparksharks and charming2drew for the good luck wishes.  
_**

**_This particular chapter, in my opinion, is far from being the best. I'm tired and not exactly in the most literary mood. I also find that I keep repeating some phrases and have trouble using varying vocabulary. So if there's anything in terms of grammar, or a typo/word confusion/etc. that disturbs the flow of your reading, I would really appreciate it if you'd let me know.  
_**

**_This is the last chapter on the jet. The pace will pick up from now on, and hopefully there will be more inter-team interaction and more lighthearted moments._**

**_Finally, as always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.  
_**


	6. Chapter 6

The jet made a very subtle turn as Gideon watched the night out of the window. Stars mischievously blinked in the dark blue sky as moonlight spilled over an endless field of clouds. Near the moon and above the glittering clouds, the jet glided like a paper plane, and Gideon let himself be carried along a surreal feeling of timelessness.

The soft sound of the pilot's announcement pulled him back to the present.

"_We're about to land. Please put on your seat belts and relax; we'll be home in ten minutes."_

With a sigh, Gideon tore his eyes from the view. He reached through his side and gently shook Hotch's shoulder.

"Hotch. We're landing."

Hotch was awake and already fiddling with the belt in a second. Wearily, Gideon turned his attention to the other sleeping agent who sat across him. The light seeping through the window fell coldly over Reid's stoic face, and Gideon marveled at how the moonlight could make the clouds look alluring and a sleeping person dead at the same time.

He regarded Reid's face for a long moment before leaning forward in his seat.

"Reid?"

Reid stirred a bit but did not wake up. Keeping his fingers intertwined to prevent himself from reaching out; Gideon called out a bit louder. "Reid. We're landing."

Reid's eyes slowly opened. For a moment he seemed disoriented and looked around as though searching for something that had been by his side when he'd fallen asleep. Then he simply pulled himself upright and clasped his seat belt.

The jet angled down, its speed making itself perceivable as it flew through the earth. Soon, the blinking stars above-head were replaced by the twinkling city lights below their feet.

"It's raining," Reid stated softly, looking out of the window. Gideon nodded without looking away from the view.

"Yes."

In better times, it felt good to know that right above the clouds was a place where the sun always shone and the stars always gleamed. But the earth kept rapidly approaching, and with it, the sense of reality.

Ten minutes later, the weary BAU team was unloading from the jet, hurrying to get to the awaiting SUVs as an intense rain washed the airport. Hotch had a hold of Reid's go-bag as Gideon helped a thoroughly drowsy Reid down the stairs and through one of the vehicles. After Reid was settled into the SUV, Gideon's eyes met Hotch's gaze. A silent, communicative look was shared between them before Gideon gave him the tiniest of nods and got into the vehicle. Hotch turned and walked towards the other two SUVs where the rest of team was getting ready to leave.

Morgan's face was serious as he nodded at Hotch, dark eyes fixed at the tinted back windows of the other SUV where Reid was sitting as he gestured towards it.

"Is anyone staying with Reid tonight?" Morgan asked, still wearing the same worried frown.

Hotch tilted his head towards the SUV. "I think Gideon will stay with him."

Morgan nodded and turned his gaze to Hotch, but the frown did not disappear. "All right. Tell him to call me if they need anything."

Hotch's hand brushed Morgan's shoulder as he walked past him. "Get some rest, Morgan. Good night."

"Night."

Ignoring the rain, Morgan stood by the driver seat door, and followed the SUV carrying Hotch, Reid and Gideon with his eyes until it turned a corner and disappeared from his sight. He slowly turned towards the other vehicle where JJ and Prentiss were about to get in.

"Hey," he called, addressing all three women. His frown was replaced by plain exhaustion. "I'm going to get a drink before heading home. You want to come along?"

"I was going to do the same," Prentiss said tiredly with a shrug. JJ sighed deeply, rubbing her neck.

"I don't know," she muttered, looking more at Prentiss and Garcia than Morgan. Morgan's eyes narrowed.

"Come on, JJ," he insisted. "I know that we all can do with a couple of drinks now."

JJ's eyes flickered towards him, and after a moment, she shrugged. "All right."

Satisfied with her answer, Morgan turned to Garcia. "What about you, babygirl?"

Garcia clutched the collars of her coat against the wind. Her expression was sour. "I'd like to remind you guys that the last time we went out for drinks was barely a week ago and I specifically remember that a certain someone was complaining that we _always_ get called in just when he gets his 'groove thang' going on. You guys sure you want to take the risk tonight?"

Prentiss chuckled, and Morgan's lips curled up.

"Come on now, it's past midnight," he argued softly. "I promise I'm not in the mood to get any _thang_ going on."

"Yeah, okay," Garcia said with a smile, pulling open the front seat door. "Just one rule. JJ turns off her phone."

JJ sighed. "Hear ya, sister," she muttered, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. Morgan nodded at them before getting into the driver's seat.

"Let's go."

* * *

When Gideon turned in his seat and offered to stay with him to help that night, Reid didn't know what to say. One part of him strongly longed to be alone in the confines of his home; the idea of a long, hot bath, maybe a cup of something warm, and long, deep sleep in his soft, comfortable bed was irresistible. And yet, another part of him simply didn't want to be alone and begged him to accept Gideon's offer. He was afraid –of what he wasn't sure, and for the moment it didn't matter, for what bothered him was the existence of the fear which felt to be sewn into his gut, fighting to become an integral part of him. He didn't have the strength to fight it, to fend off the assault of recent memories. The thoughts were currently pushed back, but Reid can feel their sinister presence, lingering in the shadows of his mind, laying low and waiting for their chance to attack and overwhelm.

"Reid?"

Gideon's quite prodding brought him out of his reverie. He blinked, shaking his head slightly to clear the fog in his thoughts, and yet, he remained unable to form an answer to Gideon's offer. Gideon's eyes narrowed in worried suspicion, and Reid could clearly see that he was wondering if there was something physically wrong that prevented him from forming words. Before Gideon could ask, Reid swallowed and forced himself to speak.

"It's okay."

_It's okay? __What was okay?_

Closing his eyes momentarily, Reid exhaled through his nose. He didn't even make sense and his inability to pull himself together was frustrating.

"You'd like me to come?" Gideon asked, eyebrows raised. This time, if only to give him a proper reply, Reid shook his head.

"No. You must be tired –"

Gideon turned away from him. "We're all tired, but I don't want you to be alone. You can barely get around with that foot."

He spoke with an air of finality, as though he had only asked for the sake of it, and Reid could hear it in his voice that he was going to do what _he_ thought was best.

"It's not that bad," he muttered, throat clenching for no reason he could pinpoint. "I'll go straight to bed, anyway."

It was becoming increasingly difficult to speak aloud, and sleep was too persistent to resist. Gideon neither moved nor responded to him, and Reid was suddenly irritated at the imposing attitude. Hotch joined the conversation, looking at Reid from the rear mirror.

"Reid, one of us should keep you company, at least for tonight," he said softly, but it was still with that tone that made it impossible to argue with. "You should have stayed at the hospital under observation. You didn't. Your body is barely coming out of shock, and aside from the exhaustion and the pain in your foot, we know what you're about to go through." Hotch paused and let the words take their effect. "It will not be easy, Reid. So, if you'd like me, Gideon, or any of us to keep you company, we will."

Reid couldn't help but swallow as he instinctively sank further in the backseat. He knew that Hotch was making a point; he knew that Hotch was right and that he only insisted because he cared, but somehow, it only served to suppress the need to have company. He shook his head again.

"I'll be fine."

He saw the look Gideon and Hotch shared upon his response, but neither of them insisted. Hugging himself even more tightly to shield himself from the cold, he rested his head at the window, and listening to the many aches and pains rioting at various parts of his battered body, his eyelids fell close.

"_Do I look like Raphael?"_

_The long trench coat, woods in his arms, poking the fish hearts as cold eyes stared down at him.  
_

"_You're a liar. Lying is a sin."_

_I'm not a sinner -  
_

"_Confess!"_

_His own yelp of pain in his ears._

_"You think you can defy me?"_

_I can't--  
_

_"Choose one to die."_

_No.  
_

_Click!_

_"Choose."_

_Hotch._

_No. Not Hotch--  
_

_Gunfire.  
_

_"You killed him."_

_Irises widen and everything falls still. Damp leaves beneath him, owls hooting, and in the absence of Hankel's threat, the night is suddenly empty and cold._

"Reid? Spencer, we're at your place. Come on."

A wave of wet, freezing wind crushed against his side, and someone shook his shoulder. Reid forced himself to wake up, to shake off the bleariness, but his mind remained fogged -_fogged like the cemetery, voices and faces solid like the gravestones, everything else floating around in a mist_. Gideon's arms helped him outside of the car and Reid struggled to move along. It must still be raining and the wind was freezing. Looking around, he recognized the pavement in front of the building he lived in, and he almost smiled in relief.

_"You think you can defy me?"_

He shook his head to quiet Hankel's voice, and gripped Gideon's shoulder when his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

"Easy now," Gideon muttered, adjusting his weight and sneaking a hand around Reid's waist to keep him upright. "Let's get you home now."

Gideon's voice was soft, and though he could not recall why, Reid noticed that it wasn't that soft the last time Gideon had spoken to him. His legs were wobbly; the sensation vaguely reminded him of the jell-o they had forced him to eat at the hospital.

"You have the keys in your go-bag?" Hotch was asking, and Reid's frown deepened as he struggled to remember where actually the keys to his apartment were. _In the go-bag?__ Or was it in his pocket?_ At the pocket of his jacket, he decided, and one hand reached for it, but his hand only slid along the fabric without going into the pocket. He looked down in confusion to see that he wasn't wearing his jacket but just the woolen cardigan.

"They're here," Hotch was saying then, and Reid saw the keys dangling in his head for a moment. With two go-bags in his hands, Hotch walked ahead of them to the building's door.

_Two go-bags?_

Reid hadn't seen Hotch carrying two go-bags before, one in each hand. All he could vaguely focus on was the distance between him and his apartment. He fought to keep his eyes open and forced his legs to cooperate as Gideon helped him through the door.

_"Tell me who you serve."_

A breath escaped his lips -something between a sigh and a dry sob. Hankel's voice would not disappear, and Reid almost gave up trying to quiet it. Gideon was muttering things not far from his ear, Hotch's worried gaze was on him, and there were other sounds, but only Hankel's voice was clear in his head. The headache was getting ridiculous.

_"Choose."_

Somewhere between the four steps into the building and the elevator, Reid lost the concept of time. He simply drifted along disconnected fragments of voices, faces and sensations, and when his aching body was eased onto a soft surface, he hadn't had an ounce of willpower left to fight against himself.

It would be a long time before his mind would quiet and his sleep be peaceful again.

* * *

**TBC**

**_Thanks a lot for the comments and reviews, everyone. I'm really enjoying writing this story, and it's good to hear that you're enjoying it, too._**

**_As for this chapter; does the shifting perspectives work or is it difficult to follow? Anything that disturbs the flow, please kindly point out so I can work on it. I've also found that writing Gideon is quite difficult, and I'm worried that he's not very consistent in this chapter. What do you think?_**

**_If I know what's good for myself, I won't spend time to update this at least until next week. If I do, it's probably a signal of the very first F grade in my six years of university life._**

**_Thanks for reading, as always.  
_**


	7. Chapter 7

_As she stood lingering by the glass doors of the bullpen area, Garcia wondered if this was what they meant by having butterflies in a stomach._

_No, it wasn't something this bad. What she felt was more like having a snake creeping in her intestines._

_She still couldn't believe that she was actually, officially working for the FBI, and in the black jacket and skirt, she was the most uncomfortable she had ever felt in her life. Penelope Garcia, drop-out of CalTech, underground hacker, now had her own FBI badge and I.D. card hanging from her neck – it was unbelievable._

_She had to take a minute to watch the buzzing crowd in the bullpen area. Only on the TV had she ever seen what an FBI office looked like, and never had it been so loud, noisy and suffocating on screen. The thought of her tiny, silent working space was a comfort._

'Let's get on with this, Pen,'_ she thought. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and walked into the room with every intention of asking the first person she saw the whereabouts of SSA Hotchner's office. At the third step, she accidentally bumped into one of the hurrying agents, but before she was done spluttering apologies, the agent was already gone. Nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she cautiously took a couple of more steps towards the catwalk that seemed ridiculously far away._

_In the fifth step, someone –someone, by the feel of it, who didn't have any flesh on their bones-_ _literally crushed into her, with such force that she staggered back until her back painfully collided with the corner of a desk. The other person, tall and lanky at the first glance, sharply fell down, legs sprawling on the floor in a comical gesture, an armful of files scattering all over the floor as he gasped at the sudden impact. _

"_What the hell–"_

_Biting her lip and continuing the rest of the cursing inwardly, Penelope pushed herself away from the desk with a wince. The other person hastily rose from the floor._

"_I am so sorry," he muttered quickly, not looking up at Garcia as he shook the dust from his pants. "I wasn't looking where I was going; I'm really sorry."_

"_It's all right," Garcia replied slowly, noticing with surprise how young he was. She bent down to help him gather the files, thinking he must still be in the academy. Then, she caught sight of the ID card hanging from the front of his way too old-fashioned sweater, and decided to seize the opportunity._

"_You wouldn't know anyone from SSA Hotchner's team by any chance, would you?"_

"_Ah, I am a member of that team, actually," the young man replied, still not looking at Garcia as he collected the files._

_Garcia looked up sharply as both of them rose to their feet. The kid –for that's what he was, probably barely over twenty years of age- sniffed and readjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder._

"_Are you serious?"_

_He nodded, hands clasped over the pile of files in his arms. Looking at his round, innocent eyes, Garcia didn't hold back her chuckle. The kid was probably the only one beside herself who looked so out of place._

"_I'm Penelope Garcia," she said with a big smile, holding out her hand. "I'm the new technical analyst of your team."_

"_Oh!" the kid exclaimed, eyebrows rising. He readjusted the files on one arm and with his free hand, gave Garcia's hand an awkward shake. "Spencer Reid."_

"_Well, nice to meet you, Spencer Reid," Garcia said, already liking him. "Okay, can you tell me where SSA Hotchner's office is? I'm supposed to report to him at 9:20 sharp; I have about two minutes left."_

_Reid gestured towards the offices. "Yeah, it's right up the catwalk, second door."_

"_Greats. Thanks," Garcia said as Reid nodded. "I'm working in that little room down the corridor with the craziest computer system I've ever seen in my life, so if you need anything..."_

_Reid nodded again. "Okay. And, again, I'm sorry about -- you know --"_

_Garcia's smile widened. "Don't be – we met, didn't we?" _

_He smiled sweetly before he looked at the clock across the room. "I'd better hurry if I were you."_

"_Oh, yeah," Garcia said with a start, and flashed a final smile at the kid._

"_See you around, Spencer," she called as she turned and hurried to the unit chief's office. That would be the first and only time she had ever called Reid by his first name._

"Earth to Penelope."

A hand was waving right before her eyes, and Garcia pulled back, turning aside to see Emily looking at her with a slight smile.

"Oh, sorry. I was just having a flashback."

"About what?" JJ inquired, sipping her drink. Garcia smiled fondly at the memory.

"The first time I met Reid."

"Yeah? How was that?" Emily asked curiously, relaxing in her seat, eager to listen.

"We both ended up bruised," Garcia replied, chuckling over her drink.

"What?" Emily asked with a laugh.

"You giving Reid a bruise, I can imagine," Morgan said with a grin, "but how did _he _give you one?"

"Well, we literally crushed into each other on my first day at the BAU," Garcia explained.

"When was that?"

"Two years ago. That's when I started to work for the bureau. He looked so young," Garcia continued with a smile, looking at her three friends around the table. "You know, when you meet someone, you get this immediate impression of them, and it sticks with them and you can't really think of them out of that first impression?"

The others nodded.

"I remember, when I looked at Reid's face for the first time, there was this... warmth... He was just a kid, you know; an awkward, cute kid who was delightfully fresh on the eye in the BAU... Like a puppy in a pack of wild bears."

Her friends burst out laughing.

"'_A puppy in a pack of bears?_' You be careful Hotch doesn't hear that one," Morgan warned, traces of laughter still on his face.

"Yeah, I wouldn' want to be around him if he did," Prentiss stated with a grin. "When did Reid join the team?"

"Just a few months before Pen," JJ supplied. "But Gideon had kept an eye on him since he had started the academy a couple of years back."

"Yeah, I read that he's the youngest agent ever to be recruited to the bureau."

"One of the many things he's a first at," Morgan muttered. He chuckled. "You know, I hadn't believed Gideon the first time he said Reid was a genius. I thought he was saying it as a figure of speech."

JJ nodded with a smile. "Yeah, me, too. But, of course we got curious and we checked his records, and guess what; he has an IQ higher than that of Einstein, two , two PhDs and he was working on the third. He wasn't even twenty-two yet."

Prentiss snorted. "God, I'd make such a complex."

Morgan smiled lopsidedly. "Complex? Nah, the kid's genius is too high for anyone to make a complex about. None of us are even remotely close to him."

"Yeah; for the longest time, Morgan had this impression that Reid knew _everything. _It drove him crazy."

"Still does," Garcia quipped, clanking her glass against JJ's with a wink.

"What; you're telling me Reid _doesn't _know everything?" Prentiss asked, rolling her eyes with a smile.

"Aw, of course not," Garcia replied with a chuckle. "It's a painfully cute sight when he's puzzled over the simplest thing."

JJ and Prentiss laughed, seemingly agreeing with Garcia as Morgan shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

"You know, I'll tell Reid about all this," he said lightly. "That you guys find everything he does so 'cute'."

"You don't need to," Garcia replied with a faux sour expression. "He already knows."

"What about you?" Prentiss asked, tilting her head towards Morgan. "What was your first impression of Reid?"

Morgan let out a breath. "That he was really _way_ too young. He was still in the academy when Gideon introduced him to us; he was, what, twenty?"

"Yeah," JJ confirmed with a smile of her own. "He's just a couple of years younger than me, but man, he had seemed like a kid even to me." She looked up from her drink, quietly musing. "There are these people who look way older than they are, like with their clothing and the way they hold themselves... It's like, Reid has the exact opposite air about him. I mean, I think I imagine him having the same air even when he's ninety."

"Do you guys think he'd be bald?" Garcia asked suddenly, frowning as she gazed at a random spot on the table.

"What?" Prentiss exclaimed with a laugh. Garcia looked up with a grin.

"You know; when he's ninety. You think he'd have any hair left?"

"Garcia," JJ muttered, hitting her shoulder with a roll of her eyes, but she was grinning.

"I bet we all have the same mental image about ninety-year-old Reid," Morgan said. "Sitting in a library, bent over a tome with a hunch, probably deafened."

"Really?" Prentiss asked with a frown. "I'd imagine he'd still be with the bureau. He'd definitely write books, or even teach at the academy."

"Nah, I don't see him teaching," JJ mused. "Have you ever seen him speak in front of an audience other than while presenting a profile? It's painful to watch."

"So what do you think?" Morgan asked, nodding at her. JJ's eyes narrowed as she thought. Her lips parted as though she was about to speak, but her expression suddenly turned sober and she hung her head, not replying.

"What is it, Jage?" Garcia asked softly, everyone immediately noticing the sudden change in her mood. JJ shook her head.

"Nothing."

"JJ."

She looked up when Morgan spoke solemnly.

"We're here to relax. Don't keep it back whatever it is."

Sighing, JJ tore her gaze from Morgan and shrugged uneasily, staring at the depth of her half-finished drink.

"I just... Do any of you guys think of him... getting married, starting a family... be surrounded by grandchildren when he's ninety?"

Her question was answered by a heavy silence. She smiled mirthlessly.

"I don't know about you; but I want that. At some point in my life, if I live to see the day, I want to start a family." She looked up, her expression troubled. "To be honest, I can actually imagine you all doing that." She ignored Morgan's skeptical face. "But Reid... I can't imagine him starting a family... or how he'd look like when he's ninety."

Neither of her friends missed her swallowing.

"Well, I'd have difficulty picturing Reid as a father, too, but I'd guess that's because he's still like a kid himself," Emily suggested, but JJ shook her head.

"No; it's not that. I..." She swallowed again, her fingers wrapped tightly around her drink.

"What is it?" Emily asked softly, gently touching JJ's arm. Gathering her hair and tossing it over her shoulder, JJ finally looked up.

"I thought that he died."

The others simply waited for her to continue.

"I mean, we all did. It still seems so crazy – that the same person who did that to him also brought him back to life – but for that one minute... he was gone." She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "What are the odds that we'll survive this job to forty?"

"Jage, please don't go there," Garcia begged, a painful edge in her tone. "I can't think like that._ We _shouldn't think like that; life totally sucks when you think like that, so don't."

"But how?" JJ asked helplessly. She turned to Morgan. "Look at Agent Brown, Agent Graham," she said, speaking about the agents the team had lost in Boston. "There is so much that's not in our hands, it's a miracle so many agents on the field survive to retire."

"I hear you, JJ," Morgan said solemnly. "Nothing is safe and sound about this job; you're right. And I know that this case shook all of us pretty bad; but take a step back, and think of all that we've accomplished. All the dangers we managed to avoid, all the lives we saved, and we're still here. Why do you think is that?"

"Because we're totally awesome," Garcia suggested softly, smiling. Morgan nodded at her affectionately.

"That's right, baby girl. We're awesome." His eyes turned to JJ again. "It's because we're a great team. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that my chances of survival until I retire are much higher as long as I'm a member of this team than they'd be if I weren't."

"Yeah," JJ muttered, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she thought about Morgan's words. "Yeah," she repeated, nodding gratefully.

They all turned to her when Emily chuckled quietly to herself as she gazed into her drink.

"What is it?" Garcia asked softly. Emily looked up, shaking her head.

"Nothing. I just..." She looked at each of her team members, and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I thought that I must have done something _really_ good for having ended up with this team."

The others smiled warmly. Morgan raised his glass.

"Toast."

The others followed his lead, and four glasses clanked against each other.

"To the team."

* * *

**TBC**

**_At some point, I felt that this chapter was dragging on and on. The initial idea was to write a flashback about Gideon introducing Reid to Hotch, Morgan and JJ for the first time. But the muse ran away as quickly as it had come, and then when I started to type, _****_these guys wanted to just talk. So I let them. Not the most thrilling thing to read, but we do what we gotta do. Besides, it is revealed once again that it's much easier for me to write from a certain point of view instead of writing from the p.o.v of, say, a sound-recorder._**

**_The next chapter is also written, and though it's basically a dialogue chapter as well, I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope to post it in a couple of days._**

**_Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think about this one.  
_**


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning found Agent Hotchner at the doorstep of Dr. Reid's apartment, one hand raised to knock on the door, a worried frown set like a mask on his face. Checking his watch to make sure it wasn't too early to disturb his agent, he knocked and waited.

Soft but hurried footsteps were heard, and Hotch knew that it was Gideon before the door was pulled open. He stepped inside, nodding at his colleague.

"Morning."

"Morning," Gideon returned, sounding tired as he closed the door. When he turned, Hotch took in the weary, sleep-deprived face. Quickly looking around, he noted the crumpled blanket on the long couch, the half-open bedroom door, and at the open kitchen area, an empty soup-bowl and a couple of mugs by the sink.

"How's Reid?" he asked quickly. Gideon sighed, shaking his head as he walked towards the tiny table halfway between the kitchen and the living area.

"As you'd expect," he replied shortly, taking out two cups from a cupboard and proceeding to pour coffee. Both agents kept their voices low as they spoke. "Though he slept like the dead for most of the night."

Hotch's frown deepened as he took a seat at the table. "Why do you look like hell, then?"

Gideon gave him a quick smile as he pushed a full cup towards Hotch. "I didn't have sleeping pills mixed into my soup."

Hotch's expression softened for just a moment before he resumed the conversation.

"He couldn't sleep without them?"

"No, he _wouldn't. _He kept trying to stay awake."

Hotch sighed deeply. After more than fifteen years in the job, he knew that closing his eyes after a brush with death was never easy. Taking a sip from the delightfully fresh coffee, he threw a glance through Reid's bedroom.

"How's the foot? Is he getting around all right?"

"It's not the foot I'm concerned with," Gideon returned as he stirred his coffee, but did not elaborate. Hotch did not need an elaboration; he knew that Gideon shared the same concerns with him about withdrawal. The previous night in Georgia, one of the doctors who had checked over Reid had spoken to both of them, explaining them about the drugs Reid had been given and the stages of the withdrawal that was about to follow –

"_... if Agent Reid does not continue to use them."_

"_What are you saying?" Hotch asked slowly, frown set in anticipation. The doctor shifted her weight from one foot to the another.  
_

"_As I've said, Agent, the combination and the amount he's been given in the last two days is highly addictive. It is not uncommon in such cases that the patient develops a full addiction. Considering what he's –"_

"_No, no, no; you don't know Reid," Gideon interrupted softly, half-smiling as he rubbed his hands together. "He's strong – stronger than any of us would have guessed." His eyes were ablaze with belief in his agent; belief and uncontested pride. "He won't fall for this."_

_The doctor's eyes softened as she paused for a moment before speaking. "This is very good to hear, Agent Gideon; but it is my responsibility to inform you of the risks."_

"_You said this isn't uncommon in such cases," Hotch stated. "You've seen things like this before, when someone was injected without their consent?"_

_The doctor nodded, removing the stethoscope from around her neck. "A few times."_

"_And in all those cases, the patients became addicted?"_

_The doctor seemed to have sensed the edge in Hotch's voice. "It doesn't mean that the Agent Reid _will _be addicted, Agent Hotchner. The people I have treated were homeless man, teenagers on the streets, ex-convicts who didn't have anyone to look out for them, or anything to live for, really. Agent Reid's case is quiet different; even if he does become dependent on the drugs for a while, he has a much higher change of getting clean and –"_

"_Stop, stop please," Gideon interjected, holding his hands up and shaking his head, his expression almost sickened. "Don't talk about him like he's one of them – 'being addicted', 'getting clean'- he's a genius, twenty-five year old FBI agent – he's not just anyone; he will not be talked about with that jargon."_

_The doctor sighed and lowered herself on the nearby bench. She took a moment to rub her eyes and relax her shoulders before looking up at the two agents. When she spoke, her voice was carefully controlled._

"_Be it as it may, Agent. As the attendant doctor, I have to inform you about what's to follow. Leaving aside the question of whether he develops an addiction or not, it's a fact that your agent will go through a nasty period of withdrawal. Now, we have given him a very mild sedative and a non-narcotic painkiller, and they will help him get back to D.C. without collapsing, but for the next few days, or maybe weeks, he'll be very uncomfortable. He won't be able to sleep properly, he'll get headaches –"_

"_We know the symptoms of drug withdrawal," Gideon cut in again._

"_Jason-"_

"_Tell us how we can help him."_

_The doctor exhaled through her nose, rose to her feet, and turned her full attention to Hotch._

"_Especially in the first few days, a measure of pain is to be expected," she continued as though there had been no interruption. "The body will manifest its need for the drugs in the form of spasms and possibly strong migraines. Vomiting, fever and insomnia are also common in withdrawal. I have prescribed some mild medication to help with most of the symptoms, but it is up to Agent Reid's willpower to get through this. He'll need all the rest he can get, and for his sake, he shouldn't left alone for long periods of time."_

"_We'll keep an eye on him," Hotch muttered, nodding even though he hated the idea of monitoring Reid. The doctor's eyes turned sympathetic._

"_I'm not suggesting you keep him under scrutiny, Agent. From what I've been told, Agent Reid's been through something traumatic." She threw a glance at Gideon. "I understand that he's an exceptional agent and that he is a strong person, but bottom line is, he is human, and a young one. Just make sure to remind him that he's not alone – that's an essential part of preventing him from needing the drugs on an emotional level."_

_Rubbing his face with a deep sigh, Gideon finally nodded._

"_You're right. Of course, you're right; he's human. He's human," he repeated, as though to remind himself of the fact that he tended to forget at times. The doctor held his gaze for a moment before resuming her briefing. _

"_I've prescribed some sleeping pills as well. He should be careful not to use them too frequently, but he'll need sleep for his body to recover."_

"The sleeping pills are wearing off," Gideon muttered, sighing. "He's becoming twitchy."

Hotch nodded, staring at the depths of his black coffee. "It will be rough; we know that."

"Rough," Gideon breathed absently. Hotch could see in his eyes, in all its rawness, the care and protectiveness Gideon felt for Reid. He felt a sudden surge of warmth towards his friend, a strong gratefulness for knowing and being a friend of Jason Gideon.

"They're like children," Gideon spoke after a few long minutes of silence. There was a little smile on his lips as he spoke through his coffee mug. "The agents we train... We take them under our wings. We watch over them; keep them under our gaze. We guide them through the right directions, and...help them up when they fall..."

He slowly raised his eyes to meet Hotch's gaze as the latter nodded understandingly.

"... like parenting."

"Like parenting," Gideon agreed, nodding heavily. His eyes rested on Reid's bedroom door for a long moment before they turned to Hotch again.

"How'd you reckon we're doing here?"

"Well," Hotch muttered as he leaned back on his seat, "you know how it is. Every time we fall down, we get up stronger."

Gideon sighed, his eyes wandering aimlessly on the giant bookshelf across the room as he rested his chin on his palm. "I don't know, Hotch. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to pick him out of the academy so quickly."

Hotch frowned, surprised at hearing Gideon doubt himself about Reid. "What do you mean?"

Gideon tore his gaze from the books and looked at him, hands opening on the table as he explained himself. "If I let him take the time to properly complete his training at the academy... that would give him more time to get used to the practical aspect of this job."

"And that would help Reid how?" Hotch asked slowly, eyes narrowed. "Jason, as you always say, this is not an ordinary FBI trainee we're talking about. This is Reid. And _this _is how _he _gets to learn the practical aspect. I'm quite sure that he'll be much wiser about splitting up with his partner next time they apprehend an UnSub without back-up."

Gideon looked up, a half-smile once again forming on his face. "This from the same person who regrets not taking time to teach him how to deal with things emotionally."

Hotch returned the smile with a half shrug. "What can I say?"

They sat in an easy silence for a few moments. The humming sound of the rain muffled the noises of the traffic on the street five floors below. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall was oddly comforting.

When he spoke again, Hotch's voice was heavy, contemplative.

"You know, there's this...gap...between Reid's intellect and his emotional development. I sometimes feel at a loss as to how to help him close that distance. I would've thought that he's come a long way since he officially joined the team, but then..."

"Something like this happens," Gideon completed his sentence, "and it's like you're right back at the beginning."

Hotch started to nod in agreement, but then he turned and looked through Reid's room for a few seconds before turning to Gideon again. "You know, we really shouldn't profile Reid, especially when he's sleeping in the next room."

"Good old BAU rule," Gideon said with a reminiscing smile. "The biggest joke we've ever come up with."

"Joke or not, Reid wouldn't appreciate the two of us profiling him... sitting at his kitchen... drinking his coffee..."

"Yeah, he'd be more upset about us drinking his coffee than being profiled," Gideon muttered, causing Hotch to snort. With a deep, tired sigh, Gideon rubbed at his face.

"Jason, why don't you go back to your place and get some rest?" Hotch suggested softly. "I have to get to the office to speak with the section chief, but I can call Morgan; he won't mind coming over."

"Nah, I'm fine," Gideon said, shaking his head and looking at his friend with red-dimmed eyes. "I slept on the couch for a few hours; that's enough."

Both agents nearly jumped in alarm when they heard the fumbling noise from the bedroom, but neither had the time to react as Reid stumbled out and rushed into the bathroom down the tiny corridor. A moment later, the peaceful silence of the apartment was invaded by sounds of the house-owner being sick.

A few minutes later, Gideon was helping Reid walk into the living room.

Upon seeing Hotch, Reid slowly released himself from Gideon's grip and fought to stand upright. With one hand, he leaned onto the door frame. The other arm slowly rose, almost in automatic motion, and stopped in mid-air in front of his torso, his hand dangling from the wrist in a very awkward posture. His right foot stood firmly on the floor whereas the bandaged left foot was stretched forward, only touching the floorboards with the heel. For the most part, it seemed to Hotch as though Reid simply didn't know what to do with his limbs.

"Hotch?" he asked hoarsely.

"Reid," Hotch returned, walking hastily towards his agent. "How're you feeling?"

Reid swallowed before answering.

"I've been better."

There was no complaint in his voice - only exhaustion and a hint of discomfort. He limped towards the living area with a wince, and Hotch followed him.

When Reid lowered himself onto the armchair in front of the only large window of the apartment, Hotch had the chance to take in the appearance of his agent under the daylight. Reid's face was ashen -_perhaps that was the affect of the cloudy sky?_- pale as it had been the moment the team had found him in the cemetery barely twelve hours ago, except for the touch of feverish blush on his cheeks. His long, bony fingers were trembling slightly as he rested them on his lap, staring at their posture with a little frown as though making sure that fingers actually _could_ be placed on the lap.

Reid carefully lifted his injured foot and rested it on the little coffee table before accepting a glass of water from Gideon with a word of thanks. He took a few little sips before setting the glass on the coffee table and looking up for a moment.

"Will any disciplinary action be taken?" he asked.

Hotch frowned. "What do you mean?"

Reid's eyes began to wander absently around his apartment. "I suggested to JJ that we split up," he said hollowly. It sounded as though he'd been repeating the sentence in his head for a while.

"Reid, we can talk about that later, if you want," Hotch said carefully. "But no; what happened at Hankel's place does not necessitate taking disciplinary action."

Reid's eyes turned to Hotch for just a second before they resumed their aimless survey. "Good," he muttered. "Okay. Good." He swallowed and fought a shiver.

"You don't look well," Gideon stated softly, causing Reid to look at him.

"I don't feel well," he said matter-of-factly. Hotch's eyes fell on the clock across the room, and he rose to his feet.

"I have to go; I shouldn't be late for the meeting with Strauss." Gideon nodded, and Hotch turned to Reid. "Reid."

Reid's eyes turned to him like a toddler whose attention gets diverted when a parent calls their name.

"Focus on getting better."

Reid nodded slowly.

"We want to see you back at the office as soon as possible," Hotch added. Somehow, Reid actually smiled a bit at that.

His heart lighter, Hotch turned to Gideon. "Jason, I'm sending Morgan here, so you can go home and take some rest. Reid –"

"I don't need anyone to stay with me," Reid argued suddenly. He looked at Gideon, and then Hotch. "I just – I'll go back to bed."

Hotch exchanged a glance with Gideon.

"Reid -"

"I'd really like to be alone," Reid interrupted. His voice was quiet and rough, but there was a solemn edge to it that hadn't been there before. "Please."

After a moment of silence, Gideon turned on his heel.

"All right. Hotch, I'll take off with you," he said, picking up his coat from the chair it was thrown on. He looked at Reid, who was now looking directly at the two standing agents from his seat. His eyes were half-glazed under the subtle frown, and the flush on his cheeks was even more prominent than before.

"I'll drop by in the evening," Gideon continued, and though his face clearly read that he was leaving against his better judgment, he leaned forward and clasped Reid's shoulder. "Get some rest."

Reid blinked. "Maybe Morgan wouldn't mind coming over later," he suggested feebly, the edge gone from his voice. Gideon nodded, a smile stretching his lips.

"I'll let him know." He grabbed his go-bag and hastily followed Hotch through the apartment's door. He halted a step when he reached there, and turned, one finger pointed towards Reid in a warning gesture. "There's a breakfast tray in the fridge – eat everything in it – don't drink too much coffee, and keep your phone on at all times," he ordered quickly. Hotch couldn't help but smile as he listened in.

"Call me if you need anything," Gideon added, and with a final nod, stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door close. He threw a quick glance at Hotch's smirk as they walked down the corridor through the elevator.

"What?"

"Nothing," Hotch replied, a slight grin creeping at the corner of his lips. "You'll have to remind Morgan to bring his own coffee when he comes. There won't be any left here."

Gideon smiled as they stepped inside the elevator, and the doors closed with a metallic click.

"I know."

* * *

**TBC**

**_I had read in an interview with one of the show's writers (or someone else from the crew?) that Hotch and Gideon were like "an old married couple". What an accurate description! I kept remembering the show's pilot episode where in the final scene, Hotch and Gideon are talking about baby names and they keep completing each others' sentences. I can't help but miss the warmth and the depth of their friendship. The character of David Rossi just doesn't fill that gap.  
_**

**_I really enjoyed writing this chapter; I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much. Thanks for reading, as always, and I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks so much to all those of you who take the time to drop a few words; I appreciate it very much._**_**  
**_

_**To Sue1313**: Interesting how I had written this one before the previous chapter, so I was pleasantly surprised to read your last comment about wishing for a chapter about Hotch and Gideon talking about Reid. I hope you liked this._


	9. Chapter 9

_His mind is like a ransacked store. Everything's in fragments, lying in shreds in a bed of dust, and he cannot put his finger on anything lest they break down even more and dissolve into particles._

_"..._what happened at Hankel's place does not necessitate taking disciplinary action."

_Good. One sharp fragment removed from his mind._

Trying to keep himself together, Reid struggled to focus on Gideon and Hotch.

Both of his bosses were in his apartment. Had both of them stayed last night? _Hotch had been holding two-bags, not three. Which one of them had stayed?  
_

He sighed, letting go of the string of thoughts, not bothering to reach a conclusion.

"You don't look well."

"I don't feel well," Reid said, as casually as he would state the statistical improbability of feeling good so soon after such an ordeal as his. He turned and met Hotch's gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt like he hadn't looked away from Gideon at all. Under the deep frown, the brown-hazel of Hotch's eyes were filled with the same concerned, measuring look.

He looked around his apartment, and noticed, for the first time, how crowded it was with three people in it at the same time.

"I don't need anyone to stay with me."

At the deepening frown of his bosses, he felt like he had to explain himself. "I just - I'll go back to bed."

That wasn't an explanation, but did he really need one to get his bosses to leave his apartment? He needed to preserve a measure dignity – or whatever was left of it after stumbling out of bed in his pajamas and throwing up in front of Gideon and Hotch. Whatever was left of it after being tied to a chair, being beaten, and having a seizure in front of their eyes. Whatever was left...

_This isn't true._

It wasn't dignity. It was privacy that he had been deprived of. Personal space. He felt invaded. Utterly exposed.

After ordering him a string of things to do and not do, Gideon gave him a final nod and pulled the apartment door close.

_Like Raphael had done when he left the cabin for the murder of the Hayes'._

With the click of door, Reid was back at the cabin again.

He subconsciously pulled at the handcuffs. His heart leapt when his arms flailed at the forceful gesture, and with a start, he realized that he was free. He lowered his gaze and stared at the green armchair he was sitting on. _Unrestrained._

Slowly bringing his arms down, he closed his eyes and sighed.

_No restrains. I'm home; I'm not in that cabin._

Opening his eyes, he lowered his leg from the coffee table and gingerly placed the bandaged foot on the floor. The soft contact minutely brought back the image of the firewood in Henkel's hand, ready to come down in a strong blow as Henkel's cold eyes stared down at him.

_This will be over quickly if you just confess your sins._

An uncomfortable clench in his stomach; and Reid shook his head, willing to keep himself at the present, at the solidarity of his home. When he raised his eyes, the first thing his gaze fell on was the coffee machine.

For the first time in a long time, he _didn't _want to drink coffee.

He pushed himself to his feet and yelped when sharp signals of pain flashed through his nerves. He dig his teeth into his lip, grabbing the back of the armchair and skipping on his good foot as he waited for the pain to subside. The signals reaching his brain somehow filled in the cracks in his thoughts, and he found himself able to think a bit more clearly. He turned and caught sight of the sleeping pills on the table.

_Well. _That explained how he had slept like the dead during the night. But now, as the effect of the pills wore off, Reid could assess the current state of his body.

He was, simply, quite sick.

Another clench in his stomach, and he let go of the armchair, balancing himself on one foot with a grimace. As he limped towards the kitchen, he remembered the conversation he had had with the kind, brunette doctor in the Georgian hospital last night; how she had explained to him the facts that he already knew but listened to anyway. _Withdrawal. Spasms. Fever.  
_

He stared at his trembling fingers and wondered if they ever stopped trembling since leaving the cemetery.

_The shiver that shot through his spine when the cool breeze hit his overly-sweated body._

_The feel of his drenched shirt sticking on his back as JJ hugged him._

_The cool surface of the round glass when he clasped the tiny bottles in his palm–_

Shaking his head, he stopped the train of thoughts, and pulled the fridge door open. Without throwing as much as a glance at Gideon's breakfast tray, he poured himself a glass of milk, feeling the pleasant coolness of the glass in his palm. He pressed the cold glass onto his cheek before taking a sip.

A thunder rolled outside and lightening flashed across the dimly-lit room, and Reid became aware of the rain for the first time. His lips slightly twitched; he had always found the sound of rain meditative, calming. He carefully lowered himself at the table and listened to the peaceful humming, letting his eyelids drape over his sight as he sipped the milk.

Six minutes.

Six long minutes of calm and peace before a sharp twinge hit his abdomen like a knife.

He gasped, doubling over the polished surface. The abruptness of the attack had caught him off-guard; he knocked down the empty milk glass as he gripped the edges of the table. He did not bother to hold back the groan that eased itself out of his lips, for there was no one to appear strong for, other than himself.

_That, he couldn't fool. Not after all that had happened._

After three agonizing minutes, the pain began to subside, and Reid forced himself to straighten, as much as he dared to, and fixed his eyes on the bedroom door. Ridiculous, how far away it seemed, but he made it his ultimate goal to reach the bed, where the rest of this agony could assault him. There was no escaping from the withdrawal, so Reid only prepared himself to face it as best as he could.

It took him three minutes, three pauses and two loud moans to reach the room.

He slowly climbed onto the crumpled sheets and lay on his side, shivering as he felt the increasing fever take hold of him.

_They're burning fish hearts and livers. They believe it keeps away the devil._

_He couldn't detect the source of the heat, but it was too hot._

With a gasp, his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes wandered around the empty room as he desperately tried to control the pain, as though he could stop the excruciating spasms by sheer willpower, and he wondered, why on earth, he had insisted on being left alone.

_His father's last look at him. The goodbye. _

_That sense of abandonment._

_I'm not weak!_

_I don't give a damn whether you're weak or strong._

There Henkel was again, raising his voice over Reid's clouded thoughts. Soon, he found himself having to divide the little strength he had between trying to quiet Henkel's voice and suppressing the waves of shivers that seemed too eager to take hold of his body.

_Click!_

_Choose._

He turned around on the crumpled sheets, screwing his eyes shut as though it would block out Raphael's imposition.

_Your team members. Choose one to die._

_The click of the revolver as the trigger went off._

_I won't do it._

"I won't do it," he muttered, squeezing the side of the pillow to make his point across.

_Trust me. It helps.  
_

_His mother, looking at him with those sad, blue eyes as the nurses from Bennington help her out of the house._

_Do you know what this is? It's God's will._

_Click!_

_Click._

"Reid?"

_Someone calls his name, but he knows it's not real because he's alone here. Ain't nobody will hear him where he is._

_Something amazingly cool is pressed onto his forehead, sending sharp flashes through his mind like an ocean wave crushing against the shores, and he hears a moan.  
_

_He sees Morgan. Morgan is frowning; he looks worried, but Reid doesn't wonder why. He's worried, too._

_ He feels compressed. Not just the tightness in his chest, not just the mist in his brain, but an all-encompassing compression from all dimensions, physical and beyond. He's semi-senseless, detached, like he's wrapped in a layer of stretch-film, and he needs a voice, a touch, something sharp enough to cut through it, to give him gateway to reality. But there is none. He's far too deeply embedded in this nightmare, and there's no sight of awakening soon._

_So he gives up, and lets himself be carried away with voices and visions. Maybe, Morgan will admit him to Bennington, and maybe Reid will then understand how his mother felt. That is the least he deserves._

_

* * *

_**TBC**

A/N: My entire knowledge about drug withdrawal and its symptoms comes from the most basic Google search and what I've read about it in fanfiction, neither of which are sufficient to make my interpretation fully realistic. On the other hand, the fact remains that we write fanfiction to present our own visions of things, as does the fact that Reid did use the bottles he stole from Henkel's body. So please bear with me as my take on the entire addiction issue reveals itself in the upcoming chapters.

On another point: My personal feeling about this chapter is that it goes way too deep into one character and it doesn't really fit, especially in terms of visualization, the nature of the show itself. On the other hand, I'm curious as to whether you think using a _Criminal Minds_ character in this way necessarily makes him out-of-character. Food for thought.

Thanks for the great support you're giving me with all the comments. It encourages me to write my best by doing multiple edits until I'm pleased with the outcome. Thanks for reading, as always, and I'd be happy to hear what you think of this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Warning:** Includes mild swearing._

* * *

_The perfect day to be home._

Thunders rolled outside the window, a harsh wind hurling huge beads of raindrops against the glass. Inside his small apartment, Derek Morgan shuffled his bare feet, the worn cuffs of his sweatpants sweeping the floor as he made his way into the kitchen. A dim, gray light seeped inside the little kitchen from the lone window. Without bothering to turn the lights on, Morgan opened the refrigerator, pulled a tin of soda and made his way back to the living room. A black, clean-cut leather couch against a huge flat-screen television, and only a narrow, long coffee-table between the two - that was all the furniture in the room. The apartment was decorated with minimum furniture, although each peace from the chair in the hallway to the wooden-framed full-length mirror was selected with taste. One could move around without bumping into things; everything was neat, aside from the empty glass and plate on the coffee table, and that's how Derek Morgan liked things in his house. Solid, easy and functional.

Another thunder ripped the skies open, and the windowpanes trembled as though intimidated by the grumbling. Relaxing on the couch, Morgan watched the blurry sky outside the window. When lightning flashed, the living room momentarily glowed with a cold, depressing light. Sighing, Morgan reached out and turned on the floor lamp at the side of the couch. He lay down, picked up the book he had been reading from the coffee-table, and after a glance at the clock across the wall, he went back to reading.

After the first sentence, he thought about Reid. He returned to the beginning.

At the fourth sentence, he recalled the sight of Tobias Henkel, standing in front of a restrained Reid, the tip of the revolver pointed at Reid's forehead.

With a sigh, Morgan rubbed the back of his head, attempting to stop the thoughts before they fully invaded his mind. Determinedly, his eyes returned to the opened page and he began reading from the start.

_"Choose one to die,"_ the son of a bitch had said. _Your team members. Choose one to die._

Halfway through the page, Morgan was already aware that he was reading without understanding anything.

_Henkel had made Reid choose one of them to die._

He closed the book resignedly, burying his weight deeper into the soft cushions, rubbing his weary eyes as he fought off the disturbing feeling. He wondered what he would do if he were in Reid's shoes at that moment.

He didn't want to think about it.

The sound of his cell phone buzzing on the table distracted him. Sitting up, he picked up the phone.

"Morgan."

_"It's Gideon. How's it going?"_

"Fine," Morgan replied. "What's up? How's Reid?"

_"I left his place a few hours ago. He wanted to be alone."_

"How's he doing?" Morgan asked_,_ frowning.

_"Not good. Listen, I need you to go check up on him."_

"Yeah, of course," Morgan said, already standing up. "I have a spare key."

_"Good." _Gideon sighed on the other side of the line. _"Let me know if you need anything."_

"Will do," Morgan assured him before hanging up. He rose to his feet, and threw one last glance through the window before walking to his bedroom to get changed.

_The perfect weather to visit a friend._

_

* * *

_

Thirty minutes later, he was stepping out of the elevator on the fifth floor and walking through Reid's apartment, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the hallway. He knocked on the door and waited.

No sound of footsteps.

He knocked again, just a little harder this time.

"Reid, it's Morgan, man," he called on the third try, one hand reaching into his pocket to retrieve the spare key. Reid had given it to him a while ago, spluttering insane statistics about the rate of house robberies caused by spare keys "hidden" in convenient places. _"We spend practically every second together,"_ he had reasoned, _"I can easily take it from you if I ever lose mine."_

Morgan had not questioned it; the kid had had a point, and Morgan had even given Reid a spare key for his own apartment. It wasn't often that Morgan hung out with Reid at his place, but he was, especially now, glad that he'd been trusted with a spare key.

"Reid, I'm coming in," he called out softly, putting the key into the lock and turning it. The kid was probably asleep. He stepped inside the dimly-lit place and closed the door.

The living room was dark and airless. Turning on the floor lamp by the bookshelf, Morgan quickly took in the blanket on the couch, the empty glass and medicine bottles on the coffee table. He took a few cautious steps further into the apartment.

The storm was raging then, and for some reason – maybe it was the lack of human voice – the sound of the rain and the wind was loud and grumbling in the apartment. Morgan frowned deeply when he saw the empty glass lying under the table, tiny drops of milk scattered on the floor tiles. He picked it up and placed it next to the sink, also taking notice of the dirty mugs and soup bowl. The distinct smell of old, burnt coffee hung over the counter, and Morgan turned off the coffee machine, emptying the thick, ink-dense drink into the sink. He turned and walked through the half-open bedroom.

"Reid?" he called softly, cautious not to wake his friend if he was asleep. He halted at a step when his eyes landed on the crumpled form of the genius.

Morgan walked silently into the room and approached the bed. Reid indeed seemed to be asleep, the blanket tossed to one side of the bed, crinkled sheets pulled underneath his slender form. He was lying on his side with his back turned to Morgan, face buried into the pillow and hands clenched under his chin. The room was quite dark; the curtain was pulled close and over the muffled sound of the rain, Morgan could hear the deep, heavy breathing of his friend.

Quickly, he removed his leather jacket, tossed it to one side and walked near Reid. The kid was clearly feverish. Morgan reached out a hand and gently shook Reid's shoulder, feeling the dampness of the long-sleeved tee-shirt under his fingers.

"Reid."

When the soft call didn't generate a response, he shook the shoulder again. "Reid, come on, man. Reid."

After a couple of tries, Reid's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times before his lips parted. "Morgan?" he croaked, his voice raspy.

"Yeah," Morgan replied, frowning. "How long have you been like this?"

Reid couldn't seem to concentrate on the question. His glazed, half-open eyes were wandering around the room, and Morgan was aware that he wasn't fully conscious.

"Did you take any medication?" he tried. Reid's eyes continued to wander about the room.

"Morgan," he muttered again, with no emotion in his voice. Morgan gripped Reid's shoulder and gave it a shake, trying to snap the kid out of it, if only for a few minutes.

"Reid, look at me," he ordered. Reid's eyes turned to him. "How long have you been like this?" Morgan asked again, more forcefully.

"I don't know," Reid breathed after a few blinks. He shuddered, arms wrapping themselves around his chest. His head seemed to be getting heavier; he left it on the pillow again, eyelids falling shut, and he returned to the same position he had been in when Morgan had walked into the room.

With a sigh, Morgan rose to his feet. Pulling up his sleeves, he walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. He grabbed the medicine bottles from the coffee-table and went back to the bedroom, leaving them on the nightstand.

"Reid, you need to wake up, kid," he called loudly as he walked out of the room and into the bathroom. From one of the cabinets he pulled a little towel and soaked it wet.

"Come on, Reid," he called again, returning to the bedroom. "Come on, man, you need to take something for the fever; you look terrible."

He reached out and pulled Reid into a half-sitting position. "Okay, look at me," he prodded, and waited patiently as Reid tried to pull himself together and focus on him.

"He won't stop," Reid whispered softly, more to himself. Morgan's eyes narrowed, but he did not ask what he was talking about.

"Reid, I want you to look at these pills," he said calmly, gesturing towards the bottles on the night-stand. "Find which one of these you can take, all right? Now, where do you keep your tee-shirts? You need to get changed."

He did not get an answer to his question as Reid tried to focus on the medicine bottles. Morgan rose to his feet and walked to the chiffonier, pulling the drawers open in search of a tee-shirt. He found a few in the second drawer and pulled one out. Reid was taking a pill when Morgan turned back.

"Okay, do you need help changing?" he asked, throwing the tee-shirt through him. Reid shook his head. Morgan watched with narrowed eyes as Reid's trembling fingers groped the tee-shirt and pulled it towards himself. His movements were sloppy and Morgan felt a pang of irritation -at what he didn't know- when he took notice of the gentle shaking of Reid's hands. To give the kid some privacy, he turned and walked out of the room.

Standing by the huge window, he picked up his phone and dialed Gideon's number.

_"Gideon."_

"It's me, Morgan," Morgan said. "Listen, I'm at Reid's place and the kid's a wreck. Did the doctor said something about this?"

There was the briefest pause before Gideon spoke. _"Why; what's wrong?"_

"He's burning up," Morgan replied forcefully, anger rising in his chest although he was aware that Gideon was not the object of it. "He can't even fully wake up."

_"Yes, yes, that dark-haired doctor said it could happen," _Gideon's voice responded. _"There are some pills on the coffee-table -"_

"Yeah, Reid just took one."

_"Okay." _Another pause._ "Do me a favor, will you - go to the refrigerator. Is there a full tray on the top shelf?"_

Frowning, Morgan walked to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. "Yeah, it's right here."

Gideon sighed loudly on the other side of the line. _"Just - make sure he eats something. The only thing he's eaten so far is half a bowl of soup."_

"Okay, I'll fix something," Morgan replied, shutting the refrigerator door.

_"All right. Call me if you need anything."_

"All right."

_"Morgan."_

"Yeah?"

_"Thank you."_

"Of course, man."

Shutting the phone with a sigh, Morgan made his way back to the bedroom. Reid had changed into the olive green tee-shirt and slumped back onto the bed, lying over the dampened sweatshirt he had removed. Walking over him, Morgan pulled it from underneath Reid and reached for the towel he had drenched. He folded it and laid it on Reid's forehead.

The movement caused Reid to sigh loudly and turn his head towards him, eyelids fluttering open for a brief second before falling shut again. "I'm sorry," he whispered in his sleep. His fingers were contracting at his sides, fumbling with the wrinkles on the sheet. That's when Morgan's eyes fell on the little, red marks in Reid's inner elbow, and his eyes widened in shock.

Leaving the towel on Reid's forehead, Morgan slowly took hold of his arm, leaning closer to inspect the marks. There they were, fresh, and to Morgan's experienced eyes, they were clearly injection marks. He slowly sat down on the side of the bed, letting go of Reid's arm, although his gaze remained fixed on the red dots.

For one thing, Morgan was sure that Reid hadn't had an IV line opened the previous night at the hospital. Even if he had had, would there be this many marks left over?

His eyes narrowing, he regarded Reid's flushed face. _Intense fever.  
_

Suddenly, the image of Reid having a seizure flashed before his eyes. _The loud, frantic attempts at breathing. The thumping of his head on the floorboards. The desperate, failing rise and fall of the chest before it fell still._

_Injection marks._

Reid had had one sleeve rolled up when they had found him in the cemetery. Thinking about it; he had had the sleeve rolled all the time when they had seen him through the video feed.

How had Morgan not noticed this before?

_Hankel drugged him._

_The son of a bitch _drugged_ him!_

Morgan wasn't aware that he had risen to his feet. His fingers curled themselves into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to make sense this unpleasant discovery. His ey_es _were still fixed on Reid's exposed arm, but he could not see the marks any more. He kept recalling the video feeds, especially the seizure.

He turned and punched the wall with all his strength. "Dammit!"

Reid jumped awake.

Cursing himself inwardly, Morgan rushed to his side.

"It's okay, kid, it's nothing," he assured, fixing the slipped towel back onto Reid's forehead. Reid's eyes turned to him, and his fingers gripped Morgan's wrist.

"He won't be quiet," he whispered, eyes fearful even though they weren't fully open. "I can't get his voice out of my head." There was a barely concealed terror in his voice. For a split second, Morgan both found himself at a loss and felt his heart break at the same time. He knew about Reid's fear of inheriting his mother's mental illness, and he could see why the problem, although perfectly normal under the circumstances, frightened Reid.

"It's normal, kid," he replied softly. "It's perfectly normal. To tell you the truth," he sighed, "I keep hearing his voice in my head, too."

Reid swallowed, his fingers loosening around Morgan's wrist. "You do?"

Morgan nodded, looking back at him. "I keep reliving the entire thing. Hell, everyone else on the team does, too. It's only normal that you're still hearing him, Reid; the memory's too fresh. That's all."

Taking deep breaths, Reid completely let go of Morgan's wrist, letting his head drop back onto the pillows. Morgan watched his friend's eyelids fall close. Reid did not say anything else, and Morgan didn't move, watching his friend slowly relax and fall into a slightly better sleep.

Only when he slowly rose to his feet that Reid spoke again, his eyes remaining shut.

"Thanks, Morgan," he whispered before coughing and turning to his side.

"Don't even think about it, kid," Morgan replied softly. He readjusted the towel on Reid's forehead for the last time and straightened, looking over the kid's sleeping form. His eyes involuntarily turned towards Reid's arm, and he exhaled through his nose.

_Drugged._

Reid was drugged; with what Morgan didn't know.

_Reid is going through withdrawal._

Morgan's was having a hard time believing it all. When he walked out of the room to fix something for Reid to eat, he had an elephant sitting on his chest, and he knew that it wasn't one that he could easily get rid of.

He didn't even want to imagine what Reid would be going through.

* * *

_**tbc**_

A/N: There; a sickness chapter. I hope I won't have to write much of these in the future, though I think this one was needed to explore how Morgan got to know about the Dilauded issue. I know that he wasn't in the room with Gideon and Garcia when Reid had that seizure, but I needed him to have seen it for the sake of this chapter. I think I'm allowed a little diversion from the show. ;]

Thanks for the great reviews and comments, everyone. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, too.


	11. Chapter 11

Agent Jerau glanced at her watch for the third time that morning, the files she had selected for the day already waiting neatly in a pile on the desk, next to her laptop. The silver-corded watch's hand showed seven minutes past ten, and deciding that enough was enough, JJ flipped open her cell phone and speed-dialed Reid's number.

On the other side of the line, the phone rang one time, two times, four times - and went to voicemail.

JJ hung up the phone, her expression troubled. Reid was supposed to come back to work that Monday morning. No one had seemed too concerned when he didn't show up at 8:30 as usual, but they always reviewed case files at ten a.m sharp, and ninety minutes was a bit too long to be late for.

With an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, JJ rose to her feet and left her office, the files remaining on the desk. She walked to the unit chief's office and knocked on the frame before walking in through the open door.

Hotch looked up at the media liaison from his day-planner before his gaze darted to the clock across the room. "We're starting the briefing?"

"Ah, yes," JJ replied quickly. "Hotch, have you heard from Reid? I thought he was supposed to come back to work today."

"He was. He called yesterday and said he needed another day."

"Is he all right?" JJ asked immediately as Hotch walked up from his desk and she fell into step with him on the catwalk.

"He's trying to be," Hotch answered with a small sigh. "He should start working tomorrow. We'll see how he's doing then."

JJ nodded as Hotch continued through the conference room. "I'll be there in a minute," she muttered before walking back to her office to retrieve the case files. The feeling in her stomach had just gained a considerable amount of weight, and it would remain there until the end of the day when she would finally be able to hear her friend's voice.

* * *

Thousands of miles away from the BAU Headquarters in Quantico, Reid was trying hard not to turn back and walk away from the old main building of Bennington Sanitarium. He had left his rental car at a far spot in the hospital's parking lot, and now as his feet carried him through the main building on the pleasant, curving path, he was feeling more and more irritated at the distance from the lot to the hospital at each step. He had had very contradicting feelings about this visit to his mother. Ever since he had returned home from Georgia, one side of him longed to see her, to look her in the eye and see for himself if she was, after seven years, still resentful at him. Another, more nagging side of him openly feared the encounter. Layers of guilt had built up within him through the years; for not being able to take better care of her, for admitting her to the hospital, and for barely ever visiting her. His mother was, and would always be, closest to Reid's heart, but fear –fear of inheriting her illness, and of facing his own guilt, seeing the accusation in her mother's eyes – it had distanced Reid from her, and as much as he regretted it, one part of him relished the mileage.

The gravel gritting under his feet at each step, Reid kept his gaze down as he strode up the path, hands buried deeply into his pockets. He ignored the caretakers and patients enjoying the beautiful autumn air out on the green grounds. He did not know what he was going to say to his mother; he did not even know why exactly he was here at Bennington at this moment. His inability to assess to his own emotions was creating unfamiliar feelings of frustration which he did not know how to deal with. As he approached the curving marble steps at the entrance, Reid glanced at the stone façade of the building with an inexplicable sense of hatred. The building almost seemed like a prison; one he would not be able to get out if he stepped in.

Just like his mother... He had taken her away from her home, her books, her life, and locked her up here in this prison – one with a beautiful garden and a gentle staff, but a prison nevertheless.

Reid had to stop at the gates as the guilt within him resurfaced. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to fight off the feeling. _Keep rational, _he instructed himself. _It was the right thing to do; I couldn't take care of her. This is not a prison; she's well taken care of here._

Forcibly clearing his mind of foreboding thoughts, he straightened his back and walked into the building with long, determined strides.

"Dr. Reid! What a nice surprise!"

He nearly winced at the gleeful voice of Dr. Jensen as the red-haired woman came through him, hands open at the sides and a big smile on her face. Halting at his step as the doctor approached, Reid gave her a stiff wave, one hand embedded in the pocket of his jacket.

"Hello, Dr. Jensen."

"Hello," she replied, smiling warmly as she clasped her hands together. "I'm guessing Diana doesn't know you're here."

"No, she doesn't," Reid answered quickly, his forced confidence already beginning to fade. He glanced through the main hall just behind the archway.

"And you're here to see her?" Dr. Jensen suggested slowly, raising her eyebrows. Reid turned to her confusedly.

"Of course."

"Ah well," the woman said, still smiling, "Last time you were here, you pretty much disappeared without seeing her." Her voice was light, somewhat teasing, and inexperienced as Reid was, she almost sounded flirty.

"I had work to do," he replied briskly. He disliked the doctors' always cheerful attitude; as though their shiny smiles could fix all the broken minds and all the broken hearts in this facility. Dr. Jensen's smile faded.

"Of course."

Standing like a statue, Reid nodded towards the hall. "Is my mom in there?"

"I think she's in her room," Dr. Jensen replied, her eyes suddenly watchful as she regarded Reid._ Occupational habit_. He wondered, for the briefest second, if he was acting like this too as a profiler.

"Thanks a lot," he said quickly, kinder this time. Dr. Jensen nodded at him and Reid turned to climb the stairs to the third floor.

As he reached the quite, chilly stairhead, he took a moment to stop and breathe deeply. In the face of an unwanted task, his mind was strangely empty. Swallowing, he turned and began walking through the familiar way to her mother's room.

The soft carpet drowned the sound of his footsteps, and an eerie feeling enveloped his heart as Reid reached room 308. He raised a hesitant hand and knocked.

He did not hear anything from the inside. He knocked again, and twisted the doorknob.

"Mom? It's me, Spencer."

The door was, not surprisingly, unlocked, and Spencer saw his mother standing by the bookshelf, looking at him over her shoulder with a confused frown. For a long second, the mother and son regarded each other; then, Diana left the book in her hand back on the shelf and hurriedly turned around, taking a couple of steps towards Reid as she pulled together the sides of her pink robe.

"Spencer, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you," Reid slowly admitted the obvious. He closed the door and stood uneasily as Diana's blue eyes scrutinized him. Reid avoided her gaze as he waited for her to speak.

Diana crossed the room in three long strides and stood right in front of him. Her cool hands gently cupped his gaunt face. "Spencer, whatever happened?"

At the concern in her voice, Reid felt the hesitancy in his heart loosen. A lump formed itself in his throat, and he swallowed.

"I- Mom, something – I wanted to – see you," he stammered, his eyes wandering on the floor. Diana's hands slowly came down. She gestured towards the couch by the window, and did not speak until Reid took a seat next to her.

"Something bad has happened, hasn't it?" she asked knowingly, eyes searching her son's face as though she was already reading the story from its paleness and the lines and shadows.

Reid forced himself to speak.

"A case – went really wrong," he began hesitantly. When his mother kept silent, he felt that he needed to continue. "I – me and JJ went to interview a witness, but – the man we thought was a witness… turned out to be the uns—the bad guy we were looking for."

He looked up to see that the distant look in her mother's blue eyes had softened. He sighed.

"I messed up, Mom," he admitted, staring at his lap. "I suggested to JJ that we split up in order to catch him, but…"

"But what, baby?" Diana asked patiently. "What happened?"

Reid shook his head, taking a deep breath to expand his constricting chest. How could he put into words what had happened? _I was kidnapped. I was tied to a chair. I was beaten; I was drugged; I was actually killed and revived. _How could he voice these phrases? He was not used to being the subject of passive voiced sentences; the wording was foreign, it felt as though he was talking about someone else – always someone else, the people, _the_ _victims _in the case files he reviewed. Not himself.

"You've been sick."

His mother's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he smiled, just a little.

"Yeah, I've been very sick," he confirmed with a nod. It wasn't too difficult to say compared to the other phrases.

"You look terrible," Diana observed with a touch of worry in her voice. "How long have you been sick?"

"About a week. But I'm better now."

It was not a lie; as he had gone though withdrawal, it had been a week of pure agony. Only the day before had he been able to sleep just a little better, probably only because his body was exhausted after such an intense period of readjustment to a drug-free system. Nevertheless, tired as he was, he was indeed feeling better than he had felt since Georgia- physically, at least.

Diana's gaze rose to her son's eyes and remained there. She sighed before speaking. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to take care of you."

Spencer looked at her carefully.

"Would- would you have come if you knew I was sick – I mean, if you could?"

Diana's eyes narrowed under the deepening frown. "Of course I would, Spencer. What kind of a question is that?"

"Mom, are you angry with me?"

Diana Reid blinked confusedly as she stared at her son's anxious face for a few long moments. "Why would I be angry at you?" she asked slowly, lingering on each word. Reid could see that she was getting ready to put up her defenses. He licked his lips and answered quickly, afraid that the sudden courage would desert him.

"For admitting you here, to Bennington."

There, he had finally asked it. His gaze followed her as his mother rose to her feet, once again pulling at her robe, tying the belt at the waist as she paced slowly, hands in her pockets.

"Did you come here to ask me this?"

Reid shrugged uneasily. "I don't know. I think so, but not just for that – I – I needed to see you."

"What is it that you really need?" Diana asked, her voice growing distant once more. Reid licked his lips again.

"I want to know if you're blaming me for being here."

Diana stared at him. "You're asking for my forgiveness," she stated, mercilessly blunt. Reid sighed, bowing his head.

"I don't know, Mom," he admitted quietly. "Do I need it?"

"Spencer, you're confusing me." Diana was clearly growing frustrated. "Did you come here to ask me if I resent you?"

"Yes," Reid affirmed with a nod. "Yes, that's the main reason."

With dread in his heart, Reid waited for her answer. Diana threw him a fierce look before turning on her heel and walking to the window.

"Some days, I remember my students," she began, her voice brisk. "I remember the classrooms. The exam sheets; the seminars. Teaching." She turned from the window and stood, facing her son. "Some days, I remember my study in our house. Sometimes I actually think I'm there. I see you,too. Sitting on the carpet at my feet, with a copy of Voltaire on the floor… and your little hands on the sides of the pages." She paused to look at Spencer's hunched form. "I miss the old days a lot, Spencer." She paused again, almost hesitantly before adding, "I miss my life."

Unable to meet her eyes, Reid nodded.

"Sometimes I wish you hadn't brought me here; I wish that I had my life to live, without being watched like a hawk each and every second. I wish I was... free."

_I know that you do, Mom. I know._

It was all Reid could do to keep his eyes from watering. He was not going to break down; not now, not in front of his mother. He was not that weak.

"But when I come around and think in my _right _mind," Diana continued after a long silence, "I know that this is better for me." She looked at Reid. "And for you, my son."

She paused for a few seconds before she walked back to the couch and sat down. "Tell me what happened."

The lump in his throat was now too big to swallow; Reid cleared his hurting throat. "During the case?"

"Yes."

Reid rubbed at his eyes. He felt tired; physically and mentally. His mother had not answered his question, and her acknowledgment of his reasons did nothing to ease the weight in his heart. But he didn't have the strength to push the matter any further.

"We split up with JJ," he answered her question in a defeated manner, "And Tobias – Tobias Hankel; that was the bad guy's name – he caught me off guard. He... knocked me out... and took me to a shack. He held me there for two days."

Speaking in the active voice was easier, and when he left out the specifics, his ordeal did not sound too horrific to Reid's own ears. But when he looked up, he could see in his mother's enlarged eyes that she was already filling in the blanks in her mind.

"Oh God," she breathed softly, reaching forward and placing her hand on the side of his head. "Oh, my poor baby." Her long fingers began caressing his hair.

His eyes glistening, Reid stared into his mother's eyes. On Diana's part, he knew that it was a genuine gesture of affection, but her hand felt strangely cold and coarse on his forehead, as though it was the hand of a complete stranger. For a brief moment, he remembered the warmth of Garcia's hand as she had held his; and with a sudden feeling of aversion, he pulled back from his mother's touch.

Diana quickly pulled her hand and placed it on her lap as Reid abruptly rose to his feet.

"I - I should go now. I have a flight to catch."

Diana nodded without rising from her seat. She did not offer her son kind words of goodbye, and Reid remained on his feet, right in front of her, feeling his heart swell at his mother's distant manner. For the thousandth time he swallowed the lump in his throat to ease his breathing, and with more sadness in his heart than he had ever felt, he turned, and left the room without another word.

* * *

_"Spence, finally! I've been trying to reach you all day. Are you all right?"_

"Yes, I'm fine," Reid replied truthfully, relaxing on the long couch in his living room. "Is there a new case? I'm supposed to start working tomorrow."

_"No, I know. There's no new case; I just wondered if you're okay. I was - a bit worried when Hotch said you asked for another day."_

"Everything's fine," Reid reassured his friend. "I needed to take care of something, that's all."

_"All right, then."_ JJ paused on the other end of the line. _"You sound good, Spence. I'm really glad to hear that."_

"Yeah. Thanks."

_"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then. Good night."_

"Good night, JJ."

He hung up the phone and tossed it aside. Slowly, he rose to his feet and made his way to his bedroom with a yawn, stretching his arms. He could not believe how much better he felt already; he could feel the pleasant pressure on his eyelids, and the bed was, for the first time in a week, calling out to him. Leaving the hallway lights on and the bedroom door open, he lay down on his side, closed his eyes, and his lips twitched at the lack of pain in his body.

The last thing he thought before he drifted off to sleep was why he had not dared using such a little amount of Dilauded before.

* * *

**A/N: I've been wanting to write a scene between Diana and Reid for a long time now; their relationship have very interesting dynamics and I really like exploring it. Actually, I think I'll write another fic specifically on that issue. Sometime. What do you think about Reid in this chapter? And about Diana?  
**

**Thanks so much for all the lovely comments and the encouragement to continue. I'm still enjoying writing this very much; it would mean a lot to me if you let me know if you're still enjoying reading it!**


End file.
